Elevator
by NicolinaN
Summary: Edited and being reposted with a late gift. Chistmas mood won't find its way to Lisa's heart this year. Instead of wrapping up gifts and singing carols with her loved ones, she has just tried to stab a pen into the throat of a certain manager. AU. LxJ.
1. Courage Is Not The Lack Of Fear

**Author's Note:** This isn't new. In fact it's old and most of you probably know it already. But I re-read it recently, blushed and decided it needed - and deserved - a brush-up and some love. So I've edited it carefully, and am now re-posting the whole story. Adding a maybe much longed-for little something towards the end. ;) Nic.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Red Eye, Jackson, Lisa, or any of the events that this story is built on.

**AN2:** This has been re-re-re-edited... so this is a a second re-post. It's still more or less the same, but I hope I've tightened it up a bit. Thanks to Greyhaven and Emma. /Nic. Reposted 010410.

**1. Courage Is Not The Lack Of Fear But The Ability To Face It **_(John B. Putnam Jr.)_

I sprinted for my life through the arrivals at the Miami International Airport, my impractical heels clicking rapidly against the marble floor. The late afternoon sun shone steadily, its light distorted through the giant windows that displayed the planes outside. It was beautiful scenery really, a real display of mankind's landmarks, and I didn't have even the slightest moment to admire the sight. Instead was falling into a dark abyss of raw fear screaming inside my head, making me oblivious to everything else other than to get away from _him_.

My heart was pounding so hard I could barely breathe. Jackson could be right on my heels, he could catch me any moment. I just couldn't stop looking over my shoulder again and again, even though it slowed me down. The skin on my back crawled from not knowing if he'd grab me in the next instant, or the next, or the next. I remembered his hands on my skin, over and over throughout the flight, rough warm fingers. His touch, burned into my very soul.

I took a chance and glanced behind me._ No. Still nothing. Where is he? _

I saw no blue-eyed wrath hunting me, just anonymous faces; people glancing uninterested at me and then away, minding their own business, on their way home to their loved ones. I didn't have business of my own anymore, and if I didn't hurry I'd lose my loved ones as well. _He_ was responsible for that. And now I was risking my life to try to save others.

_Jackson. _

Images from the last few hours flickered mercilessly by as I kept running, pounding at my mind like a hammer: the intense gaze that had me spellbound from the start, the smooth laugh and that slight rasp to his voice that made me shiver. Just a charming stranger I'd met in an airport in Texas. Only a few hours ago. A lifetime ago as it turned out. After hesitant flirting and pleasant small-talk, and that tingly feeling of having found something that I had lost a long time ago - because no matter how much I hated to admit that, he did catch my interest – he'd turned out to be a terrorist.

Just a criminal.

::

After, very convincingly, having threatened to murder my father and prying into my personal life until I had felt all ripped to pieces, I had finally done what he demanded that I do. I had made the call. Being a manager at the Lux Atlantic Resort, I was in a position to access the customer database and, more importantly, the personal trust of some of our most important guests.

And that's why Jackson had chosen me.

He hadn't flirted with me because he liked me. He hadn't made me feel special because he'd been interested in me as a person. He'd just wanted to prey on what I had achieved in life.

I loathed him for fooling me so fundamentally, but I despised myself even more.

Because I had fallen for it. I had been in the dark for so long, so lonely and lost, and something in him had woken something inside me. I felt like he _saw_ me. Saw _me_.

I had been wrong. Terribly, utterly wrong.

In the end I'd crumbled from the pressure and the threats, had called the hotel and spoken to Cynthia, the desk clerk on duty. I had wanted so much for her to be able to tell from my voice that something was different, that she couldn't trust me. We've known each other for long enough. But Cynthia - kind, good-natured Cynthia - had only expressed her concern for me. She'd thought it was my fear of flying. With Jackson sitting a few inches away I could do nothing other than reinforce that belief.

Jackson had wanted me to change the room that Charles Keefe, an upstanding politician from Washington DC, was going to stay in during his visit in Miami. It had sounded so simple really. So harmless. Just lift the phone and make the call.

I _couldn't_ let them kill my father.

I had fought him so hard, done everything in my power to stall and to make him budge, make him sympathize with me, my dad, and the Keefes, but in the end I still lost.

'_Cynthia, I need you to change Keefe's room…' '4080…'_

No stone had fallen from my heart when it had been done. Jackson, the bastard, had been sitting next to me with a satisfied look on his unbelievably handsome face. The pain in my heart had increased until it felt like I was going to explode. The plane had been descending rapidly and Jackson kept rambling about something I barely listened to. I hadn't been able to care less about what else he had to say. I'd done what he'd asked, and my heart had been sinking with every foot the plane descended. I'd been looking out the window, seeing Miami in evening light approaching fast under us. It was _my_ home, _my_ territory, not his, and I'd be damned if I'd let him destroy all these lives. I _had_ to stop this. Somehow I had to undo this terrible mistake.

Clutching the pen I had found on the floor earlier, I'd made a terrifying decision. I'd needed to break free of him as soon as we landed; get his phone and call the hotel again. I'd prayed to God it wouldn't be too late.

It hadn't worked out as I'd planned, though. Jackson had been quicker than I and had stopped my hand in mid-air when I'd tried to stab him in the throat. I'd seen the way he looked at me as he'd held my wrist in a crushing grip: I would die for that. I think it surprised him when I bit his hand, hard. It had surprised me. But I had gotten loose and jumped across him, grabbing his phone as I'd gone. His arms had shot out and caught a fistful of my cardigan. I had stumbled and almost fallen back onto his lap, then I'd shrugged out of the garment. In the tumult I'd felt his hand grip my ankle but I'd kicked out and hit something soft, and then I'd been free.

::

Now I was running like a frightened rabbit through the domestic arrivals, afraid to get caught, afraid to not make it. Clutching his phone in my hand, I evaded someone, almost ran into someone else. Fear and anger pulsated through my veins. _I have to get away. I have to make a call. I have to hide!_

Realizing he could find me easily out in the open and that I was unable to use the phone while running for my life, I dove into a vacant handicapped restroom. The phone, bless it, connected without a password, up until then I hadn't even thought of that. _Not very professional of you, is it, Jackson? But thanks! _

_Cynthia! Pick up! _

"Lux Atlantic Resort, this is Cynthia speaking. How may I help you?"

_Thank GOD! _"Cynthia, it's Lisa." Even I was alarmed by the tremor in my voice.

"Lisa? Are you still on the plane?"

"No, I…"

"It wasn't easy, but I fixed everything before Keefe's arrival…"

"He's there already?"

"Ehm, yes, I…"

"Listen, Cynthia. Listen really hard: Keefe is a target."

"What?"

"I don't have time to explain. I don't know what, but something terrible is going to happen. You have to get Keefe out of that room."

"But I just ch…"

"It's not about that. Someone is going to _kill Keefe_! You _have_ to get him out of that room."

I heard a faint 'Oh God', and then: "What do I do?"

"Get everybody out of the hotel. Pull the fire alarm. Pull the alarm, then you _have_ to go up personally and tell them Keefe is a target. Tell them that I said so. Do you get it?" _Cynthia, please…_

It was quiet again, I heard two beeps, telling me the phone's battery would soon be dead, then I heard a distant, rapid click of heels against tiled floor and suddenly the blessed sound of the fire alarm. _Thank. You. _

I didn't know if everything was going to be all right, but I had done everything I possibly could. Sinking to the floor, I trembled so hard that the phone almost slipped out of my sweaty hand. Catching it, I quickly cancelled the call.

_One more. Come on. _This was the most important call I would ever make. In my life.

My bladder made itself heard, reminding me I'd had a large drink some hours ago. Pulling down my stockings and panties, I slammed down on the toilet, dialling my dad's number and waiting impatiently for the dial tone. A sudden rustle of feet outside the door startled me. I had almost forgotten about my own precarious situation during the battle of getting Cynthia to understand. Now I froze and stopped breathing. My heart raced and I began to shiver. The handle was pressed down once, stayed down, and then was slowly let back up again. Meanwhile the phone connected and I jerked at the sound of the first ring.

_Come on, pick up. _Transfixed, I stared at the door while listening to the second ring. Then the phone beeped twice again and died in my ear. "No!" I hissed.

I clapped my hands over my mouth; I'd made a sound. What if it was _him_ out there? Him waiting patiently, quietly, for me to come out of hiding. Seconds ticked by and nothing happened. The door seemed to vibrate from the unknown presence on the other side, and I waited, holding my breath until it became unbearable.

Squeezing the phone hard in my hand, I lowered my trembling hands and tried to make it connect again, but the display only blinked once in faint green, almost teasingly, and died on me once more.

What did I expect? After all, it was _his_ phone.

I had to get out. I had to take the chance with the stranger outside, praying it wouldn't be Jackson. What would be the odds? In an airport with tens of thousands passing through each day and night, why would it be him? He was probably long gone by now, on_ his_ way to a phone… to call his 'good dog', his associate placed outside my father's house.

_Oh my God!_ My heart pounded harder at the thought. I had to get to a working phone. Fast.

Jackson's now useless phone fell to the floor as I got up. It shattered against the floor and staring vacantly at the little plastic parts I suddenly realized I didn't have any money. My stomach clenched. I didn't have anything. My bag was still back on the plane, stuffed in the overhead compartment.

As I let my skirt back down, a feeling of nakedness crept up on me. My first instinct was to head back to the plane to get my personal belongings. My second thought was that it was the stupidest thing I could ever do; it would be a total waste of time.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to remember what lay outside the restroom; I'd seen a gift shop, a couple of cafés, an information desk… Any of those would do if I only thought that Jackson wouldn't touch me if he spotted me. I wasn't so sure about that. Who could help me? _A guard!_ I needed to find a guard, they'd help me; they'd make sure my dad would be safe and then they'd find Jackson and save me.

I couldn't believe how stupid I'd been. It was as if the hours spent with Jackson had altered my sense of reality. He'd sucked me into his twisted world, had taken me hostage and shrunk me until I was nothing but obedient clay in his hands.

_No more! I'll find a way out of this._

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I stretched out my trembling hand to the lock and turned the knob after only a moment of hesitation. Inhaling deeply, I unlocked the deadbolt. I swung the bathroom door open quickly, to surprise a possible attacker on the other side. I was terrified but ready for battle and screamed when I saw a lifted hand. The confused face of an elderly man, thin and grey-haired with crutches, met my wide-open eyes and as relief flooded through me I started to cry.

"Little girl, are you OK?"

Brushing past him, I tried to gain control over my speeding heart while I stared at all the people. Where was Jackson? I was sure he was around still. I'd seen the look in his eyes; he wasn't going to let me get away with attacking him. He'd have to assume that I'd used his phone. He wasn't stupid. But would he think that I'd call my dad, or the hotel first? What would be the sane thing for him to do at this point? I shook my head. I couldn't focus.

_There!_ At the far end of the main hall I saw two men in green uniforms standing and chatting with each other.

I hurried my steps and glanced around me. I felt him. It was almost physical. I knew with a frightening certainty that he wasn't far away.

I'd hurt his pride and I would probably die for betraying our deal.

I looked over my shoulder and gasped when I saw a lean dark-haired man to the left of me. He looked up when I stared at him and smiled at me. I quickly turned away from him, nauseous. If I got out of this alive I would never talk to a stranger again, no matter how nice he seemed, no matter how much his eyes glittered. I bit my lips hard and glanced in the other direction, nearly colliding with a slowly moving old couple in front of me.

Nothing suspicious yet.

About thirty feet separated me from the two men in uniforms now. Oh, how I wished they'd look in my direction. I willed them desperately to, but instead, as if on cue, they looked in the other direction and began walking away.

"No," I whispered, for a moment forgetting to be careful.

All the little hairs on my back rose when I felt a presence to my left, something brushed by my arm and as I turned I was looking directly into enraged icy blue eyes. I inhaled sharply and stumbled as my knees weakened.

"MERRY CHRISTMAS!" someone yelled in my right ear and a stench of alcohol reached my nostrils. I recoiled, avoiding the noise and the smell. As I glanced back, Jackson had directed his deadly glare at the man screaming. And, for the second time this evening, I bolted.

Choking down my sobbing, I was almost out of breath, out of strength._ Please… _I wanted so much to beg him to stop doing this. It was so unreasonable. I still couldn't believe he was this man, had transformed into this man. Some part of me had trusted him right from the beginning, had judged him and approved him, and that little piece inside me was in pain from the loss.

Tears burned in my eyes and a lump was growing in my chest as I ran. I didn't want to do this. I wanted my dad. I wanted to be at home and to know that everything was okay. My whole life, my sanity and happiness lay in the hands of the man who was now chasing me relentlessly across Miami International Airport.

_Please Jackson! _But he didn't listen. He didn't hear my silent plea. And I knew that even if he had, he'd have laughed cruelly at me.

I stumbled over an elevation and almost fell to the floor. With one hand on the tiles, I regained my footing, and as I glanced back, Jackson was but one inch away from catching me. Whimpering, I dove to the side, falling onto a woman next to me. I heard her male companion shouting something at me and then I was on my feet again. And that was my small luck - the crowd. I was a good sprinter. He was faster, but I was smaller, and without him having to dodge and dive in between the slowly moving mass of bodies I'd never have stood a chance.

I glanced behind me and couldn't see him. Then as I looked in front of me again, I was just about to rush past a door. I didn't think it over but just twisted the knob, surprised that it opened, and slid inside.

Sinking to the floor, I gulped hungrily for air, pressing my hands to my chest and my wildly beating heart. Then I tightened my hands into fists and got up, taking a first look around me. I was in a corridor. It appeared to be a maintenance area. The lights were almost non-existent, and I stretched out my arms in front of me, feeling along the wall as I started towards the far end of the corridor. I had no illusions; Jackson was a clever man and he would soon figure out what had happened. Before he did that, I had to reach a phone and call my father. The sounds from the lively terminal behind me began to fade in the distance and were replaced by a steady humming coming from the ventilation shaft in the ceiling.

Finally, I reached the end and another closed door. A cool breeze blew on my ankles from under it. I listened carefully but couldn't hear anything from the other side. Just as I laid my hand on the doorknob, the door far behind me opened and closed swiftly, almost unnoticeably. I couldn't see anyone and I didn't hear a sound but I knew all too well who it had to be.

_Jackson Rippner. _

I swallowed hard and came to a decision. I knew he'd be unable to see me until he got further, but I couldn't stay here. I had to keep going. I knew I'd give my presence away when I opened the door, but I had no choice. As silently as possible, I opened it just a crack and squeezed myself through, closing it behind me.

I waited for a moment, trying to catch my breath. My legs trembled and my heart was beating too fast. I was terrified of what he'd do to me if he found me. I was afraid of the pain, afraid of death, loathing myself for thinking about myself when my dad was in danger _because_ of me. Again and again I regretted the impulse to try to stab him and that I had run from him. And then guilt struck me when I thought of what I had done to Keefe. I clenched my fists hard until I had several small burning crescents imprinted in my palms. Then I turned around.

_A parking lot!_

I wanted to laugh at the irony of it, if it hadn't been so serious. Had I evaded my fate two years ago, avoiding getting killed after the rape in one parking lot, only to die tonight, in another one?

A distant rustle from behind startled me and awoke me from my trance.


	2. If You Die In An Elevator

**Author's Note:** So... this is also a re-repost. But no one can blame me for not taking my writing seriously... :) Posted again 010410.

**2. If You Die In An Elevator Make Sure To Push The Up Button **_(Sam Levenson) _

I slid quietly along the left wall with my back to it, making sure to keep the multiple rows of pillars between me and the door, staying out of his sight. A small, small hope nagged at me that maybe this was just someone on staff, that it wasn't Jackson at all.

Goosebumps erupted on my back as I heard the door open and close. The simple action of closing it so carefully behind him made my insides clench; it _was_ him, he wanted privacy… and there could be only one thing he wanted to be alone with me to do. Kill me. _Oh, God…_

Slow steps echoed between the grey, cold, concrete walls. He wasn't in a hurry, so sure of having his victory near. I retreated further, glancing around to see where I was and where I could go. I didn't see any exit. There were only a few cars parked here, and they looked liked they'd been here for a while. The whole place seemed abandoned and I had the eerie feeling of having entered an alternate realm. Or maybe I had already since I boarded the red eye back in Texas?

The sound of the footsteps came closer and I could almost hear him breathe. I certainly heard my own thumping heart. Willing myself to be calm, I breathed deeper, slower... _Think, Leese, think!_ The temperature had dropped with the vanishing of the sun and the chill was starting to creep up on me. I rubbed my arms, my skin cold in the flimsy blouse, and crossed them over my chest to try to stay warm.

"A parking lot, Leese…" he taunted. "The irony of _that_!"

I froze on the spot when I heard his voice. It held the ice cold sharpness that I remembered from when he suddenly turned cruel back on the plane, cutting through the silent lot like a razor's edge. I swallowed hard to get rid of the pounding terror in my chest and, without answering, I shuffled closer to the wall, further off to the other end. I saw a shard of the rapidly darkening sky through dirty windows far off to the other side. High up in a multi-story car park; how had I managed to trap myself here?

_I have to find a way out._

"I know you're in here somewhere… and believe me, _I'm_ not in a hurry… My part of the job is finished, and this little game you've started is really just between you and me now. You and me, Lisa. It's fate." He laughed. It wasn't a friendly sound. "What better place to end this, huh?"

I heard him walking again. I didn't even breathe.

"Come out, come out wherever you are..." More steps. "Leese, you can't hide forever. You're just prolonging the inevitable." A clanking sound. "It's just _me_, Lisa… You don't need to be afraid… I just want to talk with you." His voice had such magnetism; it drew me towards him. "

I balled my hands into tight fists to get a grip and then I took a quick peek out from behind a pillar and caught a glimpse of a black clad leg and a shoe. He was close. I inhaled sharply and stifled a gasp. I glanced around me to see where I could go and that's when I saw it. At the center of the room, but closer to the other end, was an opening, two shiny steel doors to an elevator that stood partially open. A promise of salvation.

If I could get there before he got to me, then I could make a dash for it and reach the ground floor and get out. Maybe. It wasn't a very good choice, but I didn't see any other way out.

I removed my shoes and decided to take my chances with the cold floor. There was no way I could sneak away from him if my heels clicked against the concrete with every step. The chill from the hard surface immediately soaked into my feet through my thin nylon stockings but I ignored it. Nothing was important in that moment, nothing except survival.

Column after column would hide me from him if I kept the right angle. I had the horrifying notion that he had to know exactly where I was and that he was only playing a game, as if he were the cat and I was the mouse. He was good. I knew that. Too good. But I had discovered some unexpected skills in the last few hours and I didn't want to be a mouse any more. I wanted to be a survivor. Glancing at the elevator opening far away, I decided to try to lure him away from the center of the room. I sidestepped back in the direction of the entrance, then, with my heart in my throat, I made a scraping noise with the heel of my shoe against the concrete wall.

For a moment, I didn't breathe. I couldn't hear him, but I was sure he'd heard me. I listened carefully for any telltale signs that he was coming closer, but I heard nothing, and finally I had to take a chance.

Rushing soundlessly through the room and over to the other side, I sidestepped behind yet another row of pillars and found with a spark of hope that I was closer to the opening. The room was getting darker and colder as the sun set outside, and the open elevator was lit by a yellowish, warm light that coaxed me towards it. I glanced around and could neither hear nor see Jackson. Somehow it frightened me more than if I'd had him right in front of me. Not being able to keep track of him, but knowing he was somewhere close, made my spine tingle and my pulse race.

_Please, please, please!_

My eyes darted at the inviting elevator opening once more; it was only a few steps away, but I would be exposed the last few steps... and then… I could only beg that the doors would close fast enough.

So close... I glanced around me again and decided to make a dash for it. With my shoes in my hands I sprinted towards the elevator doors faster than I'd ever run before. The lift bounced a little as I dove inside it and frantically pushed the green button with a big 'G' on it. _Closeclosecloseclose! _

I pressed myself against the wall, hoping he wouldn't catch sight of me. My heart pounded as I stared at the doors. They slowly began to slide shut. _Yes!_ When they were almost closed I realized I'd been holding my breath and exhaled, relieved, just as an arm showed up in the crack and the doors began to slide open again.

I screamed when Jackson was suddenly in front of me, grinning viciously and stepping inside the elevator. "_NO!_" My shriek was cut short when he slammed into me and pressed his forearm against my throat. I stared at him in terror. I'd been so wrong; it wasn't half as frightening to have him unseen somewhere near as it was to have him pressed up against me, choking me.

"Yes," he sneered and squeezed my body between his unrelenting frame and the cold elevator wall, his face a blur of white teeth and cold eyes. I made a strangled noise and gripped his arm to try to bend it away from my neck, but he only smirked and leaned closer. "Didn't you think I'd be watching the escape route?" He leaned even closer. "Do you think I'm stupid, Leese?"

I didn't think he was stupid, but I had no way of telling him because I couldn't get any air to my lungs. I jerked and twitched in his grip, my arms flailing. I beat at him and at the walls of the elevator to try to get loose, but he barely budged. _He's going to kill me!_

My mind reeled; I didn't want to die. No matter how much I had felt like it from time to time since the rape, I now realized it fully and clearly; I wanted to live. I wanted to _live_! I fought him tooth and nail to try to get him off me, panic heaved in my chest, the adrenaline rapidly sucking the oxygen out of my bloodstream. Kicking at his legs made him stumble back and I could inhale a long, deep, tremendously painful breath, then he was on me again.

"Just relax, Leese," he whispered in my ear. "Don't fight me; this'll only take a minute. It'll soon be over."

I winced at his words. I knew I had hurt his pride and I'd had the feeling he would never let me get away with that.

I'd been right.

I looked into his amazingly clear blue eyes that I knew could be so full of humor and compassion and that were now clouded with rage. I begged him silently not to do this, blinking furiously as tears dimmed my vision. He had locked me against the wall, one hand squeezing my throat and the other tearing at my scalp. My knees buckled from pain and the lack of air. A last bolt of panicky rage mixed with survival instincts rose in my chest and I slammed my feet onto the opposite wall to throw him off balance. He stumbled and then threw himself at me again like a raging lion. I repeated the action, kicking and flailing, feeling a spark of hope when he temporarily lost his footing again.

The elevator cage had begun to rock back and forth with our efforts to hurt each other. One of us must have pushed a button because the door slid shut and we began sinking. I used the motion of the cage to my advantage and tried again to press my feet against the opposite wall at the same time as I jerked violently to get him off me.

My vision had begun to waver and each heartbeat roared in my chest. Sagging, I grasped for his clothes, his face, the wall, wheezing and gagging. I'd be found in the morning, stiff and blue, an anonymous body in a cold elevator.

Suddenly, the elevator fell rapidly a few feet and then stopped with a violent shake. Jackson and I fell ungracefully in a heap in the floor, the sudden stop knocking the breath out of both of us, our limbs entangled, his knee in between my legs, his chest against mine. He lost his grip on my neck.

Inhaling deep, raspy razorblades, I coughed and gulped for air like a newborn. I hurt everywhere and a moan of pain slipped from my lips at the same time as Jackson groaned. The elevator stood still and not a sound was heard. I looked up at the keypad and shifted uncomfortably under Jackson. It made him push away with a hand shoving uncaringly at my chest and sit back, still heavy on my legs. The buttons all blinked alarmingly and I swallowed hard which made me cough; I had a bad feeling about this.

"Are w..." All that came out of my mouth was a hoarse rasp. I cleared my throat, the pain making my eyes water. "Are we stuck?" The question made something flutter in my chest. I had never liked narrow spaces, and this was a claustrophobic nightmare.

Jackson snorted. "That would be the least of your problems," he muttered. But he shifted again and started to get up.

Anger and a new wave of fear made me shove him off me so hard he fell back. He gave me a long hard look before he jumped up and took a step towards the doors, turning his back to me. I saw that he stared at the green blinking buttons as I also got to my feet. When the first relief from being able to breathe again started to fade, I was beginning to feel the pressure of the walls. They were coming at me. The ceiling was getting lower, and Jackson was in the way of the only escape.

"Open the door," I said through clenched teeth, fighting to stay focused, to stay sane. He didn't move. He didn't seem to be doing anything. "Open the _doors_!" I said a bit louder, my heart fluttering.

"Shut up."

"_No!_" I shouted and pushed him to the side, gripping at the crack in the doors with my fingertips, trying to bend the doors apart.

I felt a hand on my shoulder but shrugged it off. "Help me. We have to get out of here!"

A hand, firmer this time. "Take it easy, Leese."

"Easy? What do you mean, easy?" I was borderline hysterical. This was worse than a nightmare. I was stuck in an elevator with a hitman… _no, not a hitman, a murderer, a...a... manager..._ I felt hysterical laughter well up in my throat.

"I need to get out of here." My breaths came in short gasps now and I aimed my efforts at the panel to the left of the doors. All the buttons were blinking in faint green. I started pushing every one of them.

"That won't do any good," Jackson said coolly.

_How can he be so calm?_ I couldn't.

There must be... AN ALARM BUTTON!

My trembling finger reached for it when Jackson took a firm grip on my wrist and bent it away, grinding bones against each other, making me gasp with pain. I embraced my bruised wrist and glared at him. His face looked like it had been carved in stone and his blue eyes flashed dangerously. "Don't even think about it, Leese."

_What!_ "But... we have to get out...?"

"_We_ don't have to do anything and _you're_ not going anywhere. Now shut up and let me think."

I opened and closed my mouth several times. _What?_ He didn't want us to be rescued? He didn't want us to be found? _He_ didn't want to be found… But _I _did.

I nodded obediently and took a step back, then I threw myself forward and almost... almost hit the button before two unyielding arms grabbed my waist and lifted me. My feet lost contact with the floor and I started kicking and screaming, cursing him in a vocabulary I didn't even know I possessed until he hoisted me across the elevator and dumped me in the opposite corner, my knees taking the impact against the floor.

Scrambling back up to my feet, I glared murderously at him and was shocked to see him laugh.

"You'll have to do a lot better than that, Leese. Do you think I'm stupid? Of course I can't let you call maintenance. You'd just tell them that I tried to kill you and then my life would get complicated. Now, shut the fuck up and let me work this shit out."

"No, eh…no, I wouldn't tell..." I croaked lamely.

"Don't insult my intelligence, Leese."

I snapped my mouth shut and watched him in silence as he glared at the door, the buttons, shifted his gaze to the ceiling, let it sweep over the walls and then back to the buttons. Patting his suit pockets, he stuck his hand in first one and then the other of the jacket's pockets. Then he patted his pant pockets, his chest pocket and finally stilled, empty handed. Looking at his palms, he didn't move, and then his face contorted into a grimace.

"Fucking airport fucking security!" he hissed and pursed his lips. He looked taken aback for a moment before he pulled himself together again and ran a hand through his hair, cracking his neck, first to one side and then the other. His face stilled and he closed his eyes, as if he was concentrating.

Fascinated, I allowed my gaze to rest on the flawless, almost boyishly, handsome face of my tormentor. I quickly shifted my gaze to the floor as he opened his eyes and cast me an irritated glance. I could only guess what he had been looking for, what he would usually carry around. A knife, probably. My heart sank. Obviously he was going to look after himself and if he could he would still kill me. I had no illusions on that part. _I have to press that button._

"Jackson," I said in a low voice. My throat still hurt when I spoke and my voice trembled. "I don't like narrow spaces, I think I'm gonna be ill…" Actually it wasn't very far from the truth. I could feel the bile rising in my throat. Claustrophobia had haunted me since I was seven and Leo Venner, who had been eight, had made up a new fun game and locked me up in a closet. I sat there, at first screaming and crying, and later sinking into apathy, until dinnertime, when they had started missing me. Four hours… _four_, before they found me.

Actually I think that's where my distrust in men started.

He crouched before me. For the briefest moment, I thought he was going to show some compassion. Looking me over, he then snorted. "Well, pull yourself together, Leese. It's the wrong place and time to have a nervous breakdown."

"Wrong?" I shrieked with panic once more rising in my chest. "Wrong? It seems really _adequate_ from where I'm standing. With _you_… and… this… and…" A sob escaped my lips before I could prevent it and I closed my mouth, choking off the rest of the emotional outburst that boiled inside me. He was right. I hated to admit that, but he had a point. I had to be strong, and… and reasonable, and... "NO!"

I don't really know how it happened but I burst upwards, slammed into him and screamed mindlessly, my arms flailing and my legs kicking, trying to get up, to break free. I had to get out. I had to get help. I had to help my father. He was going to get killed and the man, no, the _monster _responsible for it all was pressing me against the wall, his cheek to mine, his arms pinning mine to his body. He was talking, but I didn't know what he was saying.

I registered a 'sorry' and a flash of hypnotizing blue, and then it went black.

::

I woke with a terrible headache, and I was cold. So horribly, numbingly cold.

I lay on my side with my hair in my face, slumped in one corner of an, approximately, six foot by three foot elevator with matte grey steel walls, stained with finger prints and specks of unknown fluids. My vision was blurry and slowly it cleared. The floor was dirty with little pebbles and dust and a dried, flattened wad of chewing gum a few inches from my face. My teeth chattered and I clenched my jaws, trying to get the helpless shuddering under control. Dizzily, I raised my head and tried to focus on the man in front of me, pacing back and forth before a pair of closed doors. Swallowing, I winced and as I brought my hands to my aching throat it started to come back to me.

Tex-Mex. Blue eyes. Keefes. Jackson. Airport. Elevator. DAD! And… and… ELEVATOR! Oh God!

How long had I been out? Seconds? Minutes? An hour? I shivered and lifted my head off the floor, stopping when a wave of nausea washed over me. Jackson stopped his pacing and I saw his shoes point in my direction but I refused to look at him, my humiliation complete and my submission obvious. A feeling of relief, knowing that I wasn't alone, mixed confusingly with disappointment and with the discovery that I wasn't alone. Most of all I was surprised that I was still alive.

Neither of us spoke. I kept staring at a very interesting spot on the floor a few inches away from my face; probably another old chewing gum stain, dark grey from dirt, almost dissolved into the floor. _Go away. Go away._ Finally, I couldn't stand the I'm-not-talking-first contest any longer, and I was too cold to stay curled up on the floor. I started to rise and jerked when he suddenly spoke.

"Ehm… you lost it."

_Yeah, I know. _I braced myself for what was to come.

"You didn't listen."

I still didn't look at him.

"Are you claustrophobic?"

And the winner is… _"No shit, Sherlock!"_ _I touched my tender forehead and moaned._ _"What did you do?"_

I recoiled as he crouched before me. "You were hysterical… I had to knock you out."

"Bastard," I groaned and held my aching head in my hands.

He snorted. "I've heard worse."

"I bet."

Jackson actually smiled, or maybe it was more of a smirk, and then he stood and turned away from me.

NOW!

I shifted and got to my feet. My heart pounded even worse than my head. Crouching I waited for the right opportunity. He sighed and leaned against the wall and that's when I bolted. I jumped up and slammed into the wall with the buttons, pressing the alarm button for five long seconds as it said. One. Two. _Where is he? _Three. _I'm not letting go. _Four. _God this takes time._ Five. With a shaky sigh of relief I removed my finger from the button and twisted around, ready to fight for my life if he tried to kill me.

_He can very well do that, stupid._

Jackson stood with his arms crossed over his chest and just looked at me. "Good God, look at you."

I frowned and felt a moment's dizziness before I steadied myself against the wall. "W… why… didn't you... ehm, don't you…?" _Stop me?_ I think I already knew the answer and I really didn't want to hear him say it.

Jackson sighed. "I've already pushed it, Peaches. It doesn't…"

I fell to my knees, gripping at my constricting throat and almost missed the end of the sentence.

"… work."


	3. Get The Facts First Then Panic

**Author's Note: **Tah-duhm! A new chapter! :) I love you all for all the encouragement to make me keep posting this. I've worked lots and lots with it the last couple of weeks. I've gotten some beta input, and I finally feel ready to post the third chapter. Thanks Greyhaven and Emma, and thanks to Angrw for the first beta. Love you.

-

**3. Get The Facts First Then Panic **_(Anonymous)_

I couldn't breathe; I choked and hyperventilated at the same time. My hands and face were beginning to tingle in a strange way, making me even more scared.

Jackson strolled closer and stood over me for a few moments before he crouched and regarded me, tying his hands together and leaning his elbows on his knees.

I tightened and opened my hands, which were beginning to cramp, and stared at the threateningly closed, _closed_, doors, barely aware of his presence and what it did, or didn't mean at this point. I knew he was dangerous and that he had tried to kill me a few moments ago; my throat was a powerful reminder of that if nothing else. Still I was grateful not to be alone in here right now.

He gripped my chin and forced me to look at him. I obeyed, but I didn't really see him. "Leese… this won't do." He cocked his head and snickered. "Look, I didn't kill you because it would have been… awkward… with this development…"

_That _caught my attention and I stopped chewing the inside of my cheek and glared at him.

"It would've been hard to explain your corpse when I eventually got found…"

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to bend my head away from him. He was way too close for comfort and I needed to breathe.

"But if you keep acting like this, Leese… I think I'll be better off with the other alternative."

_The other alternative? Kill me… is that what you're saying? You'll kill me for not wanting to be here with you?_ My eyes darted over the walls, the low ceiling, the closed doors. Somehow I didn't find the thought of death that terrible. Being stuck in here… and with_ him_… was the unbearable thought.

His captivating eyes were level with mine and I swallowed hard as I looked into them. _How can you be so God damn beautiful?_ "But… we're caught," I moaned. "Here… we're not getting out and we can't get help."

He nodded. "That's right."

"_How can you be so calm???_" I hollered.

He didn't even flinch as I yelled to his face; he answered with a slightly raised eyebrow: "Is it doing you _any_ good to be hysterical about it?"

"I'm not hys…" I snapped my mouth shut. I was. I was hysterical. I was _not_ the kind of woman to get hysterical about things. "But… we're stuck…" I swallowed and tried to suppress the panicky feelings of claustrophobia that wanted to re-surface.

"Yes," he answered coolly.

"How are we gonna get out?"

"Frankly, I don't know." He shook his head, pursed his lips and sighed. "My guess is that it's gonna be a long night…"

_Oh, God. _"M-hm," I said in a small voice. I had nothing else to say.

"Unless…" he said in a brighter tone.

I looked up. Hopeful. Maybe he did have a plan, some miraculous way out of this hell?

"Unless you still have my phone…" He paused and bit his lower lip as he regarded me. "The one you stole from me after you tried to attack me." He spoke slowly, almost as if to a child. I inhaled with sudden fear and my heart jumped in my chest as I squirmed under his penetrating gaze. "Then all we have to do is make a phone call. Right? And everybody will come rushing to our rescue and we'll be out of here in no time." He smiled. But not very friendly. Then his smile faltered and his face turned serious. "And you will go free. Because I can't get to you. Sound good?"

I didn't believe him for a second. He wouldn't let me go even if I produced a phone. I felt my legs go weak even though I was sitting down. _I don't have the phone! He'll know!_ I pressed my lips together and steeled myself.

"Lisa?" His voice was a little sharper.

He looked expectantly at me and I raised my head and went for innocent. "What?"

"Do we have a phone in here?"

A shudder passed through me. "Ehm… no…" My eyes flickered to his and then away.

"And why is that?"

"_It was broken. I mean it didn't connect." _Damn!_ "The battery…" I swallowed. "Had died." I stumbled on every word, and with every explanation I stuttered I heard how implausible it sounded. _

He didn't blink and didn't look all that surprised. Deceptively calm, he asked: "Sooo… which was it?"

"Battery," I said quickly. "It was dead." At least it was half-true. I screamed as his hand struck out with the speed of lightning and gripped around my throat. It clamped harshly around my already wounded windpipe and made me gasp with pain. My pulse beat hard against his palm and I bent my fingers around his hand and tried to pry it off as I hungrily sucked in the little air I could get.

"Did you use the phone, Leese?" he snarled in my face.

A tear slid down my cheek as I quickly shook my head. "No," I mouthed.

Jackson shook me and pressed me tighter to the wall. With his teeth clenched and death in his eyes, he moved closer, hissing: "_Did. You. Use. The. Phone?!_"

I knew I was dead if I admitted that I had. All I could do was deny. I clawed at his hands. I needed more air than he allowed me. "Breathe…" I rasped.

He eased slightly on the pressure. "I'll let you go if you tell me the truth, Lisa," he whispered in my ear, sounding frighteningly calm, like he did this every day.

_Maybe he did. _My heart stilled and my head started spinning sickeningly. I knew I had never completely accepted the fact that this man was a murderer, a criminal. Maybe that was what had made me resist him this far. Maybe some stupid belief that we had connected during those first couple of hours we'd had, during the waiting back at the Texas airport, that my feelings then had been reciprocal. Maybe that illusion had made me go against everything that was sane? Maybe that's what had given me the courage to fight back, because I'd thought that when push came to shove he wouldn't fulfill his threats?

But sitting in a really uncomfortable position, pressed against a cold steel wall in an abandoned elevator with Jackson's hands once more around my neck, made me question my judgment. _Maybe he really is a cold-blooded murderer? Then you are in trouble now, Lisa Reisert._ I yelped as he shook me again and I swallowed hard. "No," I whispered. "No." I shook my head and begged him wordlessly to let me breathe.

"No, you won't tell me the truth? Or no, you didn't use the phone?"

I shook my head again, swallowing compulsively against his palm.

He snorted and looked me over. Then he let me go just as abruptly as he had attacked me and stood, smoothing out some invisible wrinkles on his jacket.

Inhaling deeply and painfully I staggered to my feet, wondering when this dance with death would end. And where.

My eyes darted up to meet his as he spoke. "Maybe you did. Maybe you didn't…" He looked calm and somewhat indifferent but I had a feeling he had let me go easy… for now. Too easy…

Swallowing hard I shook my head and tried not to waver as I met his cold stare. "I didn't, Jackson."

And _God_ did I hope he'd be satisfied with that.

_It's so cold in here. _I located my shoes and put them on. Rubbing my chilled arms, I glanced around and took a step away from him to try to put as much space as possible between us. Futile, of course. No matter where I stood he was always just a couple of steps away, an arm's length at best. I studied the man next to me out of the corner of my eye as my thoughts wandered. If I hadn't used that phone… If I'd done what Jackson had told me, then I'd have been at home with my father soon. My heart sank. _DAD!_ What was going to happen to him? Was there, at this very moment, a man waiting outside Dad's house, just waiting for an order to bring out his knife? I had to know.

"Jackson," I blurted out.

He stood with his arms crossed and looked bored. "Yeah." Only his eyes moved as he glanced at me coolly.

"What about my Dad?" My throat turned to sand as I waited.

"What about him?" he finally asked.

"Are you… is he… I mean…" I pressed my lips together and didn't know how to continue.

Jackson just smirked. "Lisa, what a great way for you to take your mind off your little claustrophobic nightmare."

"Please," I rasped. "Just answer the question."

He frowned and then flashed a child-like grin at me. "What was the question? I didn't quite get it."

I nearly jumped with impatience and could have started beating at him then and there for not answering. "Will he be all right?" I waited breathlessly for his response, trying to gauge from his facial expression whether he was going to tell me the truth or not. _Please, please…_

Jackson looked as blank as ever and shrugged, raising his eyebrows before he went back to study the wall before him. "Do you feel you have fulfilled your part of the agreement? Or do you think that maybe when deciding to play the little action heroine, you sealed you father's fate and sent him to his untimely death?"

I tightened my fists and inhaled sharply. "You have absolutely no reason to order his death! I _made_ the Goddamn phone call, and besides, there was no 'deal'. I was being forced. Did you call that man? _Did_ you?" I squeaked the last words.

He shrugged. "Tit for tat." Then he glanced at me and smirked.

Before I knew it I was on him, pushing at his chest so hard he stumbled backwards the few inches to the wall. "Tell me!" My cheeks burned with anger. "And you're no 'manager'," I spat. "You're… you're just a…a… thug, a scumbag, a lowlife. A snail has got more backbone than you!"

Little red dots had begun to appear on Jackson's cheeks but at my last words he suddenly laughed out loud. "A _snail_? I've been called many things… but 'a snail'?"

I slapped him hard across that damn smug smile, then I recoiled with my heart in my throat. _Oh, God!_ It had felt fleetingly good but now I immediately regretted it. Jackson took a step forward and I backed away. He took yet another step and I took a step to the side, sliding along the wall. As he raised his arms I yelled: "Don't touch me or I'll scream!"

"Ohhh, you're scaring me," he taunted. "The possibility that someone would come to your rescue is just… overwhelming!"

I slapped his hand away but he lifted them again, gripping my upper arms. He had a slightly amused look and seemed to think it was funny. I yanked free and slammed my forehead onto his nose, headbutting him. With a blood-curdling growl he was on me. To my satisfaction he didn't look so amused anymore and I saw a trickle of red under his nose; then I saw only stars as he smacked my head against the wall. I screamed and twisted in his grip, his nails tearing my skin. With all the force I could muster, I shoved my feet hard against the wall behind me and pushed us both to the other side where we landed in a messy heap as the elevator cage rocked alarmingly. I tried to push myself up, but he held me tight, both his arms around my back in a crushing grip.

"Where're you going?" he panted in my ear. "What's the rush?"

"Let me go," I hissed through clenched teeth. The skin in my left palm stung intensely, my throat ached and every swallow made tears swim in my eyes. A new spike of fear stabbed my heart at the meaningful tone of his voice. I tried to find my limbs to get up and away from him. His closeness suddenly choked me even more than his hands had.

"Oh, Leese," he rasped softly in my ear, giving me goosebumps all over. "You're the one who seems to want to end up one on one with me all the time." I yanked in his hold, trying to break free. "Been too long without a man?" he whispered against my cheek.

I froze. That was below the belt. He knew. I mean he _knew_ what I had been through. At the time he'd found out I had even noticed the briefest flash of regret in his eyes. But what did I expect? He had done nothing so far to prove he actually had any resemblance of a soul. "Please, let me go," I finally managed to squeak.

"Oh… I don't know," he taunted. "I'm getting quite comfortable here." His arms tightened around me and his every breath reverberated through my chest, just as my frantically beating heart must have palpitated through him.

I jerked my knee up, not getting enough speed with the angle I was in, but the aim was good enough. Scraping it against the floor, I cursed inwardly as pain seared through my leg. Obviously, it was nothing compared to what Jackson felt as I connected with his crotch. I _had_ learnt some useful things since the rape. Never again was I going to allow a man to control me.

He turned white and then red and groaned out loud. I felt his grip loosen and just as I bolted upwards to get away from him, the elevator turned charcoal black. Colored dots danced before my eyes and I could imagine patterns of light, but in reality I had never seen anything as black in my life. Ever. I whimpered and swayed as I stretched out a hand before me, feeling like something would take a swipe at me at any time. Below me I heard Jackson grunt and swear.

"What the fuck?" he muttered.

Tensed, bordering every limit I'd ever had, I screamed out loud as I felt a hand grip my ankle. As he yanked me, making me fall hard to my knees, he hissed: "I'm not done with_ you_ yet! That hurts like motherfuck!"

I couldn't see anything and my arms flailed in empty air in front of me to try to fend off imagined and real fiends. An unexpected hand on my hip made me gasp and I slapped it off only to get caught by my wrist this time. My breathing came in short gasps and I felt lightheaded and dizzy. As I tried to twist my hand free of his, I felt a hand on my chest, right below my breast. I jerked violently and it seemed as if he realized where he'd been going too because he changed direction and aimed for his favorite spot: my throat. Slamming into me, he clutched for my neck, trying to get his fingers around it. I felt him breathe heavily against my cheek as I gripped the warm relentless hand that was searching its way up my neckline and shoved it off me only to feel it return again.

"Jackson… _Jackson_… stop it, please," I rasped hoarsely. I was so lonely. And terrified. And sore. And the only other person with me in this misery was doing his best to make it worse. "_Please_," I rasped once more. To my incredulity, Jackson stopped trying to find a way to squeeze the life out of me and stilled. "Peace?" I whispered to the dark. I didn't see him, but I felt him, almost every part of him; we were both on our knees, I had my back against the ice cold steel wall and he was the only source of warmth, pressed into me, his chin to my cheek and a hand held loosely over the pulse in my throat. I was sure it pounded as hard against his skin as it felt inside me.

"What do you offer?" he rasped darkly. I twitched with shock and surprise in his hold; his mouth was just by my left ear.

"I… I've got nothing to offer… except a truce until we get out of here." I swallowed nervously. I could fight him forever, but with everything working against me I was doomed to lose. I knew it, he knew it, the question was how he liked the option to be locked up in an elevator the whole night, in complete darkness with my dead body. I hoped desperately that he didn't find that possibility too appealing. That was the only thing I had to offer. _Come on, come on. Please._

"Managerial skills," he muttered and let me go, removing his body heat from me along with the fight and the adrenaline.

Suddenly, and very unexpectedly, I missed his warmth. As my heart slowed and my breathing evened out, the cold came crawling up my spine. I hugged my knees and rubbed my arms and sat back, the chill from the wall immediately penetrating my thin top. I shuffled away from the wall and stopped when I felt a body part that wasn't my own.

"Sorry," I muttered and shuddered. The sweaty dampness of my blouse had quickly become ice-cold material that I could barely touch without shivering. "God, it's cold."

I heard a sigh and then Jackson moved in front of me. I yelped as I felt his fingers on my elbow. They padded my arm until they found my hand and then something soft was pressed into it. "What is it?" I asked, hating the small tremble that tainted my voice.

"Goddamn it, Lisa. It's only my jacket. Put it on you before you freeze to death. What genius brain cell in your head made you remove your own?"

"Why?" I asked. I had to ask.

"Why what?" he replied shortly, sourly.

"Why are you being nice all of a sudden?"

I heard a snort and then: "It's not 'being nice', it's preventing you from whining about being cold the whole damn night."

In spite of the sarcasm I was stunned by his friendly gesture. "Thank you," I said in a low voice and tried to find my way inside his garment. It still carried his warmth and, unexpectedly, his scent. I had sensed it from time to time, sweet, musky, manly, but now it surrounded me and I didn't stand a chance.

He smelled good.


	4. Look Deep Enough Into The Cut

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much everybody who reads and reviews. You don't know how happy it makes me.

Lisa has a confession to make.

/Nic.

-

**4. Look Deep Enough Into The Cut To See What Really Caused The Pain **_(Interpreted CL Bartholdi)_

_Oh, God._ I tried to breathe through my mouth as I, shuddering, and with a heavily pounding heart, wrapped myself tightly in his soft warm suit jacket. It was hopeless. His rich scent drifted upwards and reached my nose, surrounded me, seduced me and cajoled me into a silent, treacherously peaceful, calm. It was like poison and I didn't have an antidote. Pulling up my knees inside of the jacket, I was still grateful for the warmth he'd provided. I couldn't really blame him for how he smelled. _Unless that is part of your plan when you pick a victim. Knock them with your scent… _Silly pictures of how he went to a Sephora store to buy a carefully chosen eau de cologne for each new 'hit' poured into my mind. I wondered which perfume I was being intoxicated with right now.

_You're losing it, Lisa._ Shaking my head, I clenched my hands into fists and gasped when I felt the sore area in my left palm. I touched it tentatively. A tiny stone on the floor had embedded itself in my palm when we had fought earlier and it hurt like hell now that I finally had the time to even think about it. I winced when I started picking at the wound to try to extract the little stone. To my right, I heard Jackson stir.

"What's going on?" he asked quietly.

"No… it's nothing. I'm just sore… all over. I felt it when I moved." I swallowed. Sitting next to the man, no, the killer, that had in fact caused it made me feel uneasy talking about it. To say the least.

"Mm," he muttered, indifferently.

He didn't say anything else and I continued to try to dig into my wounded palm. Each new attempt to scrape or squeeze out the tiny stone made me grimace with pain, and it hurt enough to make me hesitate to use more force.

Because of the warm jacket, some of the numbing cold had begun to leave me. My teeth were still shattering from time to time, though, and it wasn't only from the cold. It was everything, Jackson's alarming presence, and the thoughts of what I had done and if my father was going to be okay.

The silence, the narrow space and the darkness, was really starting to get to me and I felt my eyes brim with tears. I swallowed repeatedly. I didn't want to cry in front of him. Then the thought struck me hard: we could die in here. I could die here… soon. If we didn't get out… then it would be over. I bent my head and let my forehead rest against my knees.

How had I lived my life when I'd had the chance? If this was how it was going to end, then how hadn't I ruined it even before I even ended up here? I'd done so many wrongs lately that I couldn't even begin to sort them out.

I'd isolated myself and never let anyone close. Not since the rape. Countless nights had passed when I had wandered my rooms, trying to still my heavily beating heart, re-living the horrible few minutes from the rape, dwelling on it instead of moving on. My whole being had been frozen in that moment and I hadn't known how to get out. It wasn't as if I'd had an actual death-wish… I just hadn't had much of a life-will. And now it might be too late for second chances.

I sighed again and hugged my knees, wondering what _he_ was thinking right now. I listened in the dark, heard him breathe. Did he also think about death? My death?

As I sat there and scratched my palm with clenched teeth, the depressing thoughts of my life and of my father finally got the better of me and I couldn't hold back the tears any more. Trembling, I steeled myself; I didn't want to cry in front of him and I held my breath as a sob unexpectedly escaped my lips.

He sighed. It was the first I'd heard from him in a while. "What is it, Lisa? Is it the dark? Claustro_phobia?_" He sounded calm and his voice was soft but I still heard a slight taunt in it.

"No... ehm... It's... my palm. It hurts, I think I'm bleeding. I hit something on the floor before when..." I snapped my mouth shut. Better not remind him.

"Don't bleed on my jacket," he replied shortly.

I huffed. "Well, that's just fine," I sneered. "That's just so _you_! Only thinking about yourself and never someone else."

"Did anything I've done give you another impression?"

"I've seen you friendly," I quipped.

He gave out a short laugh. "That was just _play_, Lisa. I had to get you hooked and it was fun to see how far I could push the little prude."

_I'm no…_ I snorted and hissed: "You can call it whatever you want. You were disappointed when I turned you down."

"No, I wasn't. I couldn't have cared less."

"Whatever."

"Whatever what?"

"Nothing."

"Oh Lisa… I _know_ how much you've longed for some company. How much you've dreamed of having someone close again. Even for one little moment." His voice in the dark was suddenly soft as silk. "You were so easy to snare and pull in, inch by inch."

It hurt like hell. He was right. He _had_ pulled me in, had fooled me completely. "You're wrong," I muttered, steeling myself from the ache that erupted in my chest. "You don't know me."

"Oh, I beg to differ. I think I've seen you cry yourself to sleep more than even you dad has. Or any of your infrequent friends…"

"Shut up. Shut _up_!" _'I followed you for eight weeks…'_ I shivered at the thought that he'd been watching me, following me; that I hadn't been alone when I thought I was. What had he seen? Had he been there when I cried? When I got up at night because I couldn't sleep. When I tried reading a book, watching a late movie, pacing my apartment… _'Eggs at three a.m…'_ His earlier words on the flight rang in my ears.

_You were._ And it was funny, because in a way it felt as if I hadn't been quite as lonely these last weeks. At least not in retrospect.

"Hit a nerve?" he asked, his voice amused.

"You don't know anything," I retorted sourly.

"Whatever you say."

I yelped as I put my hands to the floor to move further away from him and cringed from the sudden stab of pain.

"What's wrong with your hand?"

_What do you care?_ "I think a stone got stuck there before… when we… you know."

"Let me take a look."

A look? "What? You see in the dark? Tell me if you do because I'm completely blind in here and it's starting to drive me nuts."

"You can't become something you already are. Come on, give me your hand."

_Very funny._ I snorted, but obeyed, and stretched my hand towards his voice, curious about what he was going to do. A warm dry hand touched my wrist and sent goosebumps up my arm and a shiver down my spine. Then he held my hand in his as he started to examine my palm. I held my breath and my poor heart pounded. _How can he be so warm?_ When he felt the sore spot where the stone had embedded itself, I gasped. "Ow!"

"Don't need to see to discover that one." He padded the area with his fingertips and then he squeezed around it with a steel grip, pinching my palm until I screamed at him to stop. Just when I started beating at him with my free hand and tried to pull out of his hold, he stopped and patted my arm. "Was it as good for me as it was for you?"

"Uh… that _hurt_!" I blinked and squinted as the light suddenly flickered once before it came back.

Jackson and I stared at each other, our pupils dilated still and our eyes dark and weary. Then we looked down at our hands, mine still in his, and realizing we were touching each other. Touching, but not fighting. I think it felt just as awkward to both of us, because we pulled out of the grip with the speed of light and got up.

"That was…" he said.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my skirt, smearing out the blood and the dirt, and interrupted him. "We need to get out of here."

Suddenly we were allies, both agreeing completely that we should try to find a way out.

"Isn't there any hatch in the ceiling?" I asked.

He looked up and then around. "It doesn't look like it."

"If you lift me I can try to push and see if something gives way."

He nodded.

I was stupid. I hadn't thought about that if he lifted me it would mean that he would touch me again.

He grabbed my waist and hoisted me up until my face was a couple of inches from the ceiling. I examined every square inch of it, pushing and finally slamming my good hand against it. His chin pressed into the soft skin on my belly and I felt his every breath, hot against the thin fabric of my blouse where the jacket had slid up. Suddenly, I needed to get down and out of his grip. Now. Miserable, I slumped in his arms and he let me back down. "It's no use. Don't all elevators have a hatch in the ceiling? They always have in the movies…" I whined.

"Life isn't like the movies, Leese."

Normally I would have snorted at such a cliché, but tonight his words sounded real and important. True. I nodded. "Let's try the door again."

Jackson placed himself on one side of the doors and I on the other, squeezing our fingertips into the narrow crack between them and then, with a nod to each other; we pulled for all we were worth.

Nothing. Not even a squeak from metal being bended, no parts moving, no promise of us getting out.

I didn't take that very well. It was as if the darkness had calmed me before, when I didn't to see our prison walls. Now I saw everything with a crispy, enhanced view, and my head started spinning faster and faster, distorting the image, blurring it with my tears. "HELP! CAN ANYONE HEAR ME? HELP! WE'RE STUCK IN THE ELEVATOR!!!" I pounded at the doors and screamed again and again until my voice cracked and all that came out were hoarse clicking sounds.

I stopped when I felt a hand on my arm; someone was talking to me. "Leese… Hey, Leese…" I looked up at Jackson. I had almost forgotten he was in here too. "It's no use. Remember how empty it was? And now it's…" He looked at his wristwatch. "…seven… almost seven p.m… There's no one out there. They'll be gone for the day…" He shook his head.

"Seven!? It can't… be…" I looked down at my own watch. It was smashed and didn't work. It had stopped at five thirty. I inhaled shakily. _Seven? God!_ We had been in here for about an hour and a half. It felt like six. The whole cold night lay ahead of us.

My eyes darted around the walls of the elevator; relentless, unyielding, grey and cold. Ironically enough, the only source of warmth and humanity in here came from the second most terrifying man I'd ever met in my life.

The _most_ terrifying man, the one who'd… I touched my scar involuntarily as a wave of nausea rolled over me … had been an entirely different kind of monster.

I glanced at Jackson again. _No, no, no, no!!!!_ I drew a deep and shaky breath and let it out, feeling as if I would never be able to breathe again. A deep, raw sob of sorrow and fright rose in my chest and I turned away from him, suffocating it, not wanting him to see how vulnerable I was and how this entrapment affected me. I was normally better at that; lying to people, quenching feelings, putting up the always cheerful façade.

I was so damn tired of it.

Would Jackson care if I allowed myself to sink? Would it annoy him or would it amuse him? Or would he just leave me alone? I guessed that he just wouldn't care.

We stood there in silence, in opposite corners of the elevator. Opposite corners of the world. Sometimes I shifted and he would glance at me and then back to nothingness. Sometimes I started when he moved ever so slightly.

Time seemed to stop. The only sound that was heard was the sometimes alarmingly creaking from the cables above us when we moved, and occasionally a whining noise from far off in a distance. Probably a plane… or the wind. I couldn't tell which, but whatever it was, it made me feel even more deserted and isolated… like at the edge of the universe. Alone and abandoned by the world.

_Alone…_ I tasted the word and knew that I didn't want to be left alone right now. I preferred _his _presence far more than being by my own in the elevator.

_Alone…_ I realized that I had been alone for so very long; that every night when I'd woken in pain, pacing my small apartment, trying to get the memories to stop biting, trying to make the dreams leave, I had been alone.

_Alone…_ I never let anyone close anymore. Jackson was closer to me at this moment than most people ever got… and strangely enough I didn't mind it as much as I had only a little while back.

I would never have let him in of course, in normal circumstances, if we had met in a bar, or through friends. He was a stranger, a terrifying person, and a _man_… but now he had forced his way in. _My_ will had been but a mere breeze to the tornado that was Jackson's intoxicating power, leaving me breathless with a need I couldn't quite grasp, hating him immensely for mastering me. I turned my head to look at him. He appeared harmless enough now, slumped against the wall, hands in his pockets and looking rather relaxed in his dark pants and light blue shirt.

Flawless, cool; his presence both tugging at me and repelling me.

How did he do it? How did he stay so calm when my heart fluttered with known and unknown fears? What did he do when he didn't stalk me? Where did he come from and where was he going next? _If there is a 'next'. If we're ever getting out. _Suddenly, I wanted to know. Him. About him. I'd never met a flesh-and-blood criminal before. _A terrorist. _The little hairs at the back of my neck rose. There had to be so much more to him than had met my eye. Well of course there was. I had only seen a fraction.

I was blissfully starting to forget my own agony as I tried to imagine the mind and soul of a killer. He wasn't a machine; he must have weaknesses… people he cared about… Or _had _cared about I realized with a shiver. Past tense… What had turned him into a person that could mercilessly kill other humans? What losses would there have been to the little boy he once was? I shook my head_. Why do you sympathize with him, Leese? You know what he is!_ I wasn't sure why I bothered.

No, I _was _sure. I knew why.

We _had_ connected; and it hadn't only been in my imagination, no matter what kind of lame explanation he tried to use now. Then he had changed, obviously, so had I, but the memory of his smile and his glittering eyes refused to leave me… along with that tiny little hope he had ignited in me a few hours back, that flickering hope for something else than solitude and exclusion. The spark had died now, when he had revealed his true face, and even though I was pulled to him, for warmth, and out of curiosity, there was no way we could have that back; that first meeting, that meeting that had been so beautiful and innocent. It had been irrevocably lost.

I glanced down at my own slumping figure; two pale, bruised legs sticking out of an over-sized black jacket that I had wrapped tightly around my body, the nylon stockings were torn on both knees where the skin was scraped. My high heels were starting to annoy me and as I heaved my aching feet out of the refined instruments for torture that the shoes really were, my heart started pounding harder once more. _Torture… Instrument…_ I was disarmed, and so was he, and if it ever stood between us again I knew what I needed to do, and where that rather sharp heel would go.

The thought of managing to escape from him if the occasion occurred made my cheeks blush with excitement. _YES, Lisa! Think constructive thoughts, stop dwelling on your own misery._

The newfound strength made me bolder and I turned to him, trying to catch a glimpse of that icy blue behind the unruly dark tresses that covered his eyes. "Jackson," I said softly.

"Mm." He didn't look up, yet I had a strong feeling that he kept track of my every move.

"I... I have to know. What's going to happen to my father?" His mouth flattened into a thin white line. There was no doubt that the question annoyed him. I flinched when he suddenly pushed away from the wall and began pacing the floor. Staring at the same old, _very_ interesting, chewing gum-stain on the floor before me, I tried to stay cool even though I had my heart in my throat.

"Leese," he said harshly. "I don't have access to a phone anymore than you do."

"But what will your…" I tried to remember what term he'd been using about his killer. "…'associate' do when you don't call him?" _Because you didn't, did you?_ I looked up at him, my heart pounding with a tiny fragment of hope and a large portion of despair.

Jackson stopped in his tracks and regarded me, his eyes piercing mine. "He's not gonna make a move unless I tell him to. I believe we've covered this already."

"Ehm… but if we don't get out of here? What will he do if he doesn't hear from you?"

"Relax, Leese." He shrugged. "He'll hear the news on the radio that Keefe's been taken out and then he'll assume that everything has gone according to plan and that I haven't been able to get to him for some reason and just leave as quietly as he came. Daddy dearest will be safe. Don't worry so much."

"Oh…" I couldn't speak. My throat constricted. If Cynthia had managed to get them out, his associate would hear about the _attempted_ murder on Keefe on the radio… No matter what I did it had been the wrong thing to do. And now there wasn't anything I could do about it.

"And since you didn't call anyone… everything should have proceeded according to plan."

I couldn't breathe; his words hit me like a blow to my stomach. Jackson looked smug and leaned against the wall. He looked like he knew that I had made the call to the hotel, like he didn't care about anything else than punishing me for it. _I MADE the call Jackson!!! _I wanted to confess, I wanted to see how he reacted. I didn't want to die, but I _needed_ to know if I had caused my father's murder tonight… or not… had to know if the response would be automatic, either as a reaction to the terror attack, or worse; from the lack of an attack. I felt sick again and I crossed my arms over my mid-section, grimacing, as a convulsion of pain shot through me. _Dad!_ I glanced at him again, trying to calm my breathing. _What will you do when you find out? _

I chewed on the inside of my lip. I know I risked the truce, the little peace we had reached between us. But I didn't feel like I had anything to lose. "Jackson…" I bent my head and my voice faltered. I didn't have the courage. "The phone worked… once…"

I gasped and could only produce a ridiculous yelp as I was slammed against the opposite wall from where I'd just stood. His body was pressed tightly to mine and he squeezed my cheeks bruisingly with one hand, the other gripping my hair. _Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!_

His breath was hot on my cheek and I tried to turn my head away as he hissed in rage: "What did you _do_?!"

Tears formed in my eyes as I tried to twist away from him. _Shoe! The heel!_ I tried to look for it, but I couldn't see it anywhere. Shuffling my feet I tried to feel for it, but Jackson yanked my hair harder and shoved me again so I lost my footing. One glance into his enraged glare made the hairs at the back of my head rise. _You already knew…didn't you? _"Nothing," I panted. "N- nothing."

I couldn't pretend anymore; it hurt too much. A cry of agony rose in me and I slumped in his grip, tears falling freely as my chest heaved with each sob. _I'm so sorry, Dad. I'm so sorry._

Jackson's hold slowly turned less brutal and more into something close to supportive as I wailed helplessly. Finally, my loud sobs faded and I cried silently against his shoulder. When my legs gave out and I started to descend, slumping against the wall, he followed me down, stopping me from falling into a boneless heap on the cold floor.

I held on to his shirt like a drowning to a lifeboat, too cold and too small to fight. He wasn't the one to steady me through this nightmare; he was the person I'd have least expected to find any comfort in, but oddly enough, terrifyingly enough, I did.


	5. In Solitude I Remain

**Author's Note:** I feel all warm and happy for your reviews! I'm so amazed that anyone still reads this. This fandom must still be increasing, FIVE years after the movie!

To making thngs clear: you don't miss anything vital by not having read the first version. Most of it is still there, almost everything, and definitely everything that means something. I've tweaked some parts, removed or changed sentences that disturbed the flow of the reading and, in several cases, added stuff... ESPECIALLY later on... And I've read, and read, and read... still I find typos, or awkward sentences. I apologise for those.

Early new post since I feel terribly guilty for taking so long with ch 4. Jackson and Lisa are at each other's throats. Again...

**5. In Solitude I Remain With No Pain And Absolutely Nothing to Gain **_(Interpreted Sylvia Chidi)_

I was completely spent when he finally spoke.

"Leese." His voice was thick and raspy and he sounded tired. "I don't control this anymore than you do. From in here there isn't a thing I can do. Like it or not, we're stuck together." He sighed and cleared his voice. "I don't know what my associate will do when I don't call him. Normally, he wouldn't do a thing until he heard from me… but if he receives the message that Keefe's still alive…" He shrugged.

A shudder wracked my body as Jackson finally let go of me. I swayed, sitting on my own, my heart pounding almost painfully.

"It's no use, Leese. Hurting you… no matter how satisfying it's been… It really doesn't matter much at this point. I'll just…" He waved dismissively with his hands before he let them fall. My eyes darted up to meet his. He straightened and fell back onto the wall next to me, pulled some strands of hair away from his eyes and leaned his elbows on his knees.

"I… I don't know if… if Cynthia managed… I just don't know…" I squeaked. The side of his arm was touching mine and I didn't pull away. I was too cold, too tired, and too beaten. Something crucial had changed between us; Jackson didn't feel like my antagonist anymore, at least not as much as before. It was like he'd said; we were stuck here together, both just as small in the hands of fate.

"Mm."

We sat in silence. I forced myself to calm down, to empty my mind from the terrifying images that formed there. I rubbed my eyes and leaned my head on my knees, glancing at Jackson. It scared me that he didn't say more. I wanted reassurances, promises, but I had to start accepting that he couldn't give me any. Or - to be honest – probably wouldn't give me any even if he'd known more… just because he liked to watch me suffer. "Do you take pleasure in hurting people?" The question blurted out of me before I'd even finished the thought.

His head snapped in my direction and I inhaled sharply as I met his cold gaze. "Excuse me?"

I swallowed hard and looked away. _What got into you, Leese?!_ "Oh no. Nothing. Sorry. I just wondered since you said…" I spoke fast, stumbling over the words.

"I know what I said," he replied, too silkily. I glanced back up at him. A hint of a smile grazed his lips and my eyes darted between his lips and his cool blue eyes; they both frightened me and sparked a tingling turmoil in my belly. "But by all means, ask me. I just wouldn't have expected such a question from _you_. You're always so _correct_ and well-behaved and that was pretty harsh, Leese." He spread his arms and grinned. "_Harsh_," he mouthed.

I frowned. _Are you mocking me?_ "Correct!? Opposite _you_, I work with customer relations and have to keep our guests happy. It's all surface. Don't judge me from how I perform at work; it has nothing to do with who I am or what I think and feel! You don't know me. You really _don't_."

"Oh, did you think we're that different? I also work with my customers' satisfaction in focus, you know." He cocked his head and glanced at his feet. "And everybody keeps up a facade. You. Me. Our clients."

"I think our means to achieve our goals are somewhat different!" I spat.

He licked his lower lip as he regarded me. "I'll give you that." He shifted slightly and I jerked, his closeness making me more jumpy than I wanted to admit. "Fuck! It _is_ cold in here," he said.

I felt fairly warm in his jacket and hadn't given it a second thought whether he too was freezing, or not. "Do you want…?" I pulled at the exclusive fabric, ever the people pleaser, hoping intensely he'd say no.

He shook his head. "Nah… That wouldn't be very 'nice' of me, would it?"

"I didn't think you did 'nice'," I replied quickly.

Jackson laughed; a rather pleasant, raspy sound. "Keep it. I'm okay." He shuffled closer, turning his face to me. I tensed. "Do I take pleasure in hurting people?" he repeated in a low, teasing voice very close to my ear.

My breath caught in my throat. _Damn!_ I had hoped he had forgotten about that. I inched away. "I didn't mean to… Forget it."

"Sure you did. You were wondering if it turns me on to press you against the wall and watch the fear in your eyes as I put my fingers around your throat…"

I had trouble breathing as my heart rate picked up. _You sure make it sound like you do…_ "Ehm… no, I…"

"You're such a lousy liar, Leese. Anyone ever told you that?"

_Well… No. _I swallowed nervously, unable to stop the ball now that I had set it in motion.

"Haven't you ever felt the pleasure in causing pain to some poor fucker who really deserves it? The triumphant moment when you know you have the upper hand and you watch your opponent lying crippled at your feet?" He smiled and looked smug.

I shook my head. I'd been at the receiving end of that more than my fair share, though. Remembering the vicious grin on the face of my rapist, I suddenly realized I knew at least a small part of what Jackson talked about. Hadn't I dreamt of that victorious moment over and over again when _he_ and not I would be the one lying there on the ground, humiliated, beaten and bleeding? I blushed and bent my head. I wasn't like that. I wasn't like _him_.

Jackson's soft voice cajoled me into a trance of memories. "When you've been hurt, Leese, when you've been lonely and you've seen couples laughing before you and you've crossed over to the other sidewalk because you didn't want to meet them… when guests make your life hell no matter how you bend over to please them… Didn't you want to hurt someone then? Wouldn't it have been sickly satisfying? Even for someone like you?"

I cringed and looked up at him. His face was mere inches away and I exhaled, realizing I'd been holding my breath. _How do you know all this?_ He smiled and, for the first time since back at the Tex Mex bar, before we bordered the flight, he looked friendly. And all I wanted was to slap him. I knew I'd take pleasure in _that_! _You _followed_ me for _eight_ weeks!_

"Do I take pleasure in hurting people?" he asked again.

I meant to say a 'Mmm', but it came out as an embarrassingly small, incoherent sound.

"It depends… It depends…" He bent his head closer and watched me from under a curtain of dark hair. I stared back, hypnotized, intensely regretting bringing this up. "Are you asking whether I like hurting _you_… or not?"

The same annoyingly small sound escaped my lips again and my heart pounded so loud it roared in my ears.

He nodded, never letting go of my gaze. "What do you think?"

I tore my eyes away from his and stared blankly before me. "I don't know, Jackson. I don't know you. You seem pretty fucked up to me, so maybe-"

I gasped when he grabbed my wrist. "I really, truly can't figure you out, Leese." His voice was hoarser than before. "You keep dancing on razor blades when you just keep _pushing_ me to- What's _your_ deal? You seem to actually _want_ me to hurt you because you just keep coming back for more with that cocky attitude of yours."

_NO! I don't want that!_ I pulled my wrist out of his grip and he let me go. As I massaged my hand, I studied his face; he had darker circles under his eyes than I remembered seeing before and he had started to look tired. I shook my head. "I don't want you to hurt me. I wish you wouldn't."

"What is it then? You really haven't been very compliant. Most people, unless they are trained field agents, crumble quickly under the kind of pressure I've put on you and do whatever I want them to."

"I've crumbled…" I whispered and closed my eyes to fight the pain. I flinched when I felt his hand touching my chin. With a jerk I tore my head away and met his gaze.

"You've been fighting me every little step of the way, Leese. I thought I'd taken a step forward and then you took two back… over and over."

"But I made the call…" I said weakly.

"I left you with little choice. Who in their right mind would choose to let their father die?" Jackson asked softly.

My throat constricted at his words. _Dad._ I tried to picture him alive and well, eating his leftover lasagna in front of the TV and without a care in the world, but random flashes of blood and violence broke in and distorted the image. "I made the wrong choice anyway."

"Why is that?"

"I've helped you murder an honest, decent man. Not only a brave politician, but also a father of two… Oh, God…" I winced. _The kids!_

Jackson shrugged. "It's what I do."

"Why? How can you do something like that? How can you live with yourself?" I don't know why I asked; I could have just left it alone. I really shouldn't have any desire to get to know Jackson; it wasn't sane.

"Money's good," he grinned.

I frowned and closed my eyes, focusing on the anger that rose inside at the casualness with which he gambled with human lives. "You asked me before what I think. If you enjoy hurting people..." I cleared my aching throat. "If you enjoy hurting me…"

"Ahm… yeah." I felt him shift beside me.

"I think you are a very damaged, very pathetic human being."

I dashed to the left and sprung to my feet as his arm shot out to grip me. Within a blink of the eye, Jackson was up too, chasing me into a corner. He slammed his hands to the wall behind my head, cornering me efficiently between his arms. His blue eyes flamed with anger and the muscles on the sides of his jaw twitched. I tried to duck, but he quickly brought an arm down and pushed me back against the wall with his forearm against my throat. My hands instinctively shot up and gripped around his arm, jerking in his grip, trying to free myself, achieving nothing but being held tighter.

"_Why_, Leese-" he panted in my ear, "-do you keep looking for trouble?"

"Maybe it's just that I can't take _your_ attitude anymore," I hissed back.

"Care to develop that a little?" he snarled.

"No, I don't. You know what I mean." I shook my head and glared back. Jackson pushed harder, making me gulp for air and struggle to bend his arm away. "You _do_ enjoy hurting me," I wheezed.

He yanked me towards him and I fought to get loose, ending up with my back to him instead and my cheek against the steel wall. I felt his every heavy breath reverberating through me. "Little Lisa," he snarled in my ear. "With _you_ I discover pleasures I never even knew existed!"

"I hate you!" I hissed.

"Really? I'm so_ hurt_!" he mocked.

"Let me go. _Now._"

"Oh… I don't know. I kind of like the view." He pulled my hair hard, forcing my head back, closer to him. My scalp ached. His cheek was stubbly against mine. Tears burned in my eyes and the scar on my chest suddenly ached with the memories of the rape, the pain, and the humiliation. "_Please_," I whispered. The images that wormed their way to the surface made me want to vomit. "I'm gonna be sick," I whimpered as bile rose in my throat.

Jackson released me immediately, making me sag. "For fuck's sake, don't puke in the elevator! Can you imagine the stench?"

I nodded as a sour taste filled my mouth. "Give me some space," I said weakly. He backed and I crouched, trying to focus on my breathing, riding through the waves of nausea until they slowly subsided. I licked my dry lips and glanced up at him. He stood in silence, regarding me.

"You really don't like people touching you, do you?" he asked.

"Touching," I snorted and sat back down on the floor, wishing intensely I'd had something to drink to get rid of the bitter taste in my mouth.

Jackson crouched before me. "Yes, touching. One way or the other."

"There's a difference between people and people, Jackson. You haven't really worked on the trust issues so far…" I didn't have to look at him to know he was smiling. I pursed my lips.

"You can't continue to keep everyone away, Leese."

_What are you? My mental coach?_ "It's working just fine!" I sneered.

"But look at you. It's just pathetic to think-"

_That_ did it. I lifted my head and met his searching eyes, they were filled with questions and I had one answer. "Have you _ever _been hurt, Jackson? Really hurt?" I quipped. "Have you _any_ idea what a rape does to you? How the humiliation reduces you, how it takes over your life until there's nothing left but pain? How every ounce of your self confidence is shattered and finally ceases to exist?" My heart hurt as I spoke and I clenched my fist and pressed it into my empty stomach. "I fight for every breath, for every moment of normalcy. Then _you_ come and… and…" I turned away, not wanting him to see how my eyes watered again and jerked when a hand touched my shoulder. A yelp escaped my lips when we were plunged into complete darkness once more.

"Oh… God, _no_!" I breathed. I didn't move. His hand was still on my shoulder and I, who had been but a breath away to slap it off, now welcomed the proof of the presence of another human being. "Not again," I whispered. "This is insane."

"I've had better days," Jackson replied as I felt him shift and settle next to me, removing his hand as he did.

He didn't speak, and I didn't speak. Hadn't it been for the slight whisper from his even breathing, I'd have thought I was suddenly alone in this hell. My eyes were wide open and still I didn't see a thing. _This is what it must feel like… being blind. _

I tried closing my eyes and it felt better for a while. If I squeezed them hard, different colorful patterns appeared behind my eyelids and I could feign normalcy; that I had voluntarily shut out the light. It didn't work for long, though. Soon a frightening feeling of being watched crept up on me. Like I was the only one who didn't know that the light was back. I flipped my eyes wide open again only to find out that it was still black as a tomb.

_I can't stand it! _

As my breathing started to come out in short erratic gasps and my heart was beginning to race, Jackson suddenly shifted next to me. I flinched when he spoke.

"I know hurt."

I wasn't entirely stupid, so I kept my mouth shut and waited. Minutes ticked by and he didn't speak again. "How?" I finally asked carefully.

I heard a snort. "Oh, wouldn't _you_ like to dig into the mind of your stalker slash kidnapper?" The softness in his voice had been replaced by an edge.

"Ehm… No… I mean. You seemed like you were going to say more… and I thought…"

"You thought I was going to give you the sad story of my life. Short and dirty version."

"Given the circumstances, and the fact that we're going nowhere I was more thinking of the long version," I quipped.

Jackson laughed, and then it went quiet again.

I had been grateful for the distraction and wasn't willing to give up that just yet. "You know hurt? I find that hard to believe. If you did, you would never do what you do."

"What is it I do?"

I was relieved that he was still in talking mode. "You hurt people."

"Call it retaliation."

"Yeah? On what? …or whom?"

"Aspiring to become a shrink?" There was slight venom in his voice.

"I might. Does it bother you?"

"Nothing bothers me."

"Well good. Then talk." I reveled in the sudden turn of the conversation. He had painted himself into a corner and couldn't get away and I wasn't going to help him out easily. I wanted him to suffer. Yeah, maybe I did take pleasure in that.

I virtually felt the irritation ooze off him and it made my lips twitch in satisfaction_. Just talk away, Jackson. Let me hear what a terrible childhood you had and what made you become so remorseless and cruel._ When he still didn't say anything, I hammered the nail a little further. "What's the matter, Jackson Cat got your tongue?" I taunted.

I gasped when his hand struck out and gripped my arm. Missing me at first, but immediately correcting his mistake, he pulled me until my shoulder collided with his chest. His hand was squeezing my upper arm so hard I knew it was going to bruise. "You really have no _idea_ who you're dealing with, Lisa," he snarled. "Don't think for one second that I'd hesitate if it'd come to that."

Relaxing in his grip, refusing to ignite yet another fight and drift off-topic, I pressed on. "Did he beat you badly, Jackson?"

"Who?" he hissed, irritated, his breath hot on my face.

"Jackson Rippner Sr."

I thought he was going to explode; his hand around my arm felt like it would break my poor limb in two. I winced but stayed calm. My chest rose and fell against his with every breath I took. "You're hurting me. Did I hit a sore spot?"

He snorted and eased the pressure. "No."

"Oh, sorry," I continued. "I forgot. You don't _have_ any weaknesses, right?"

I stiffened until it felt like I would shatter when his hand shifted and started moving down along my back. I shied away when it passed my scapulae and settled, palm flattened on my lower back. He roughly pulled me to him and whispered in my ear: "I wouldn't say I don't have _any_ weaknesses… that's taking it a step too far."

"Jackson," I croaked, suddenly not so brave anymore. "You…you're changing the subject."

He leaned in and I jerked when I felt his stubbly cheek to mine. "And here I was thinking you wouldn't notice."

Releasing me completely, he sat back again. My cheeks blushed and I was suddenly thankful for the darkness. Correcting the jacket and pulling it tightly around my trembling body I went for another approach. "Please, Jackson. Just say something, anything. I need some distraction. I was beginning to panic when you caught my interest saying you knew hurt."

"Oh, you're good. You know that."

"Wh… what?"

"Managerial skills. You're a brilliant negotiator and you function well even under pressure. I'm fucking impressed. I could use someone like you-"

"Not in a million years!" My eyes went wide and I gaped. I couldn't believe what he was saying.

"Relax, Leese, I'm pulling your leg."

_Oh… _I felt almost disappointed. I'd been hoping that at least he'd meant the compliment. _OH! _"I might be good, but you're even better," I said with a short laugh.

"Say what?"

"You've done it again."

"Done what?"

"Shifted topic."

I heard him laugh. "I work full time manipulating people, Lisa. That's what I do. That's what I'm good at. I'm not a 'hitman' as you so eloquently asked. I'm not primarily… injuring people, even if there _are_ times when I have to resort to violence."

I shuddered. "But the result…" I said weakly.

"The end point tends to be someone's early retirement, yes."

Swallowing hard, I hugged my knees, realizing that during our banter I'd started to forget who he actually was. Or, more correctly, that I really didn't know who he was. "How did you get involved with… this…?"

"The government overthrows and high profile assassinations?"

"Ehm… yeah, yeah… that."

He was quiet for a moment. "Coincidence I guess. One thing leads to another… you meet with certain kinds of people… discover you have certain talents… The first few out of ideological reasons, having strong arguments to do what you have to do… Then it gets easier."

"But… you seemed so nice…"

He snorted. "Good. It was intentional."

My heart pounded harder and harder and I tried to swallow the huge lump of sadness and disappointment in my chest. _What did you expect, Lisa?!_ I inched away from him, regretting ever asking, feeling lonelier than ever.

When his hand touched my shoulder I almost jumped out of my skin.

"I'm sorry, Lisa."


	6. Because If I Show You Who I Really Am

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry everybody that I'm so crappy at answering your reviews. I love reading them, and your praise fills me with such joy. :)

Jackson and Lisa are finally easing up on the fighting, develop their relationship, and delve a little deeper into the whys and whats. /Nic.

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**Chapter 6. Because If I Show You Who I Really Am You Might Not Like It And That's All I Got **_(Interpreted Sabrina Ward Harrison) _

I couldn't believe my ears. "For what?" I shifted slightly and his hand fell off my shoulder.

"I didn't play you entirely... At the airport… I liked our conversation too. Meeting before the flight wasn't really part of the job. It was… I … was curious."

_God damn it, Jackson! Why?_ I heard him breathe, but he didn't say anything else. "Ehm… you know, you can't just say that, really," I said in a hoarse voice.

"What?"

I cleared my throat to gather a little bit of strength. "Come on. You can't just say that you were 'curious' and then leave it at that. You need to give me a little bit more."

"And why is that?" His voice didn't betray whether he was teasing me or if he actually was that thick-headed.

I snorted. "Because… because of _this_! Everything!" I swept my hand in the darkness. A gesture he was unable to see. "Because you did all this to me and I… it…" I sighed deeply and started again. "It really hurt me." I bent my head in shame for having said it out loud. _Stupid, Lisa._

And Jackson, being male, or being emotional incapacitated, or… I don't know what, didn't get it. "That I threatened you? Your father?"

I wanted to slap him for forcing me to say it out loud. "_You_ hurt me!" I jerked when I felt his hand touch my face._ How does he know where I am all the time? _I moved away and we lost contact.

He was silent a little too long before he replied. "Lisa… did you think…?"

"_No_! I didn't…" I swallowed hard. This was not what I had wanted to say… ever… but there was something about the intimacy the dark created; it somehow set our scores back to zero, made our past insignificant. Only the present mattered. And maybe there would be no future? Maybe we would die together in here anyway; starving to death… so what did it matter? "But… you made me laugh… and actually relax in your company… a little…" My cheeks were blushing until they burned like flames licking my skin. I laughed nervously. "God, my cheeks are so hot."

I heard him inhale. "I could use some warmth," he said in a low voice.

_Don't even think about it!_ My heart pounded harder as I felt his searching fingertips touch my jaw line and then gently move until both his cold palms covered my cheeks. _Ohhh… you're so cold… _And all of a sudden I ached for him and the vulnerability he displayed, the undeniable truth that he was just as human as I. I didn't move away. I don't know why. His hold was light, almost shy, or searching, and even though his hands were too cold, their presence warmed me.

"You _are_ hot." His voice had a new husky quality to it that I hadn't heard before. He let me go and his hands left chilled areas on each cheek.

"Are you very cold?" I asked, and shuddered myself. I don't know what I meant to ask, really. When Jackson moved closer to me, I stiffened and was on the verge of fleeing.

"Stay," he whispered with the slightest tremble in his voice, sounding so calm, friendly, and almost as if he was begging. I stopped the movement I'd started and barely breathed. "I _am_ cold," he said softly.

"I'm sorry," I said, not knowing what to do. If I gave him back his jacket, I'd freeze terribly. If he demanded it back, I really couldn't do anything about it.

We sat in silence, stiff, awkward, close; his shoulder to my shoulder, his hip to my hip. The little warmth we could share, we shared. I don't know how much time passed. My head had started to ache a little, my mouth was dry, and I felt a slowly growing need to use a toilet, so to speak. It wasn't bad yet, though, and I suppressed the feeling the best I could. The light flickered once and startled us before it went out just as fast. He sighed.

I flinched when he suddenly spoke.

"Every day."

A brief shudder rustled through my body. I didn't ask what he meant, just shifted slightly and sat up straighter.

He didn't say anything else for a while. Then he spoke again.

"He beat me every day." His voice was soft and didn't falter.

I swallowed and squeezed my eyes shut. _Oh, God._ Not very long ago my reaction would have been different; I would have thought he'd deserved it, and suddenly I didn't. He had slowly started to become a real person to me. Very real, in fact. Actually, he felt closer than I'd let anyone come for the last two years.

"But I wasn't ten. That was a slight exaggeration… I was fifteen when I hit back…Killed him. It was right after he'd beat her unconscious… she died later…."

I winced and didn't know what to say. "Your mother?" I managed, trying to keep my voice steady.

Jackson shifted next to me and our shoulders lost contact. "My sister… 'Mother' left a few years earlier… if I ever find her I'll kill her," he said, very matter-of-factly.

His words hit my chest like a hammer. "I… I… ehm… don't know what to say… I'm so sorry…"

"No, you're not," he snorted. "You think I deserved it."

"No, I don't," I quipped. "And your sister certainly didn't deserve it!"

Jackson was quiet again, then he said, barely audible: "She was six."

I squeezed my eyes shut to stop the tears that threatened to start falling. "I'm sorry… I'm really sorry," I said with a thick voice.

"She was beautiful."

_Of course she was if she was your sister…_ I couldn't stop it anymore; my eyes watered and tears started to spill on my cheeks.

"Don't go soft on me now, Leese."

I swallowed hard. "What was her name?"

Jackson was quiet a beat too long. "Kimmie. Kimberly." Then he turned silent.

"Kimberly Rippner." I tasted the name, breaking the moment. "You miss her?"

"It's too long ago…" I heard him swallow next to me. "She was… the funniest… anyway, who would know… if she'd grown up to become… fucked up like me… Maybe she was better off?"

"You don't really believe that yourself, do you? Maybe _you_ wouldn't be where you are today-"

"I don't wanna talk about it," he snapped.

There was no doubt in my mind that this was real; that he'd really been telling me the truth. Maybe because he hadn't tried to fill the story with a lot of details, or maybe because of the slight tremor in his voice when he'd said her name.

"Jackson Rippner really is your name, then?"

"You doubted?"

"Of course I doubted. How can you use your real name? Aren't you worried you'd be… you know… traced?"

"What are you saying? You'd track me down?" He sounded slightly amused.

"Oh no, not _me_… but, you know…"

"I have nothing to worry about. I'm virtually untraceable."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I don't exist… there are no records that I exist… that I ever existed…"

"But now I can tell them…" I swallowed hard. It was still a very real fact that he might do something about that later on.

"You can tell anyone whatever the hell you want. It won't change a thing. I'm just a shadow."

"That sounds so sad."

I felt him shrug next to me. "It's suitable."

"Back to being the uncaring killer now?" I was disappointed. He had just started to open up, but then he put the lid back on again.

"Did you think I was anything else?"

"For a while I thought so… yes." _You _were_. You can be._

"Everybody has a story, Leese. Might even be a sad one. Take a look at yourself for instance."

I flinched. "I don't want to talk about that," I replied quickly. My heart began to pound harder again.

"Why is that? Afraid of what you might see?"

"What do you care anyway?" I asked.

"Well… since we're stuck here, for better or worse, and we don't seem to be going anywhere in quite a while… I wouldn't mind the distraction…" He nudged my arm. "Come on, Leese. Long and dirty version."

I fought to hold back my tears, swallowing repeatedly to rid myself of the lump in my throat. "Maybe if you'd sounded like you cared…"

"Bullshit!" he exclaimed.

I jerked at his sudden outburst.

"You haven't told a soul, have you?"

How did he know everything? It wasn't just because he'd been following me; it wasn't possible. To know this, he'd needed to be a psychic. Or just frighteningly good at reading people.

"How did he hurt you, Leese?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I repeated.

"You-"

"Not with _you_ anyway."

He was quiet for a moment. "Why not?"

I thought about it. "Because you haven't deserved… that level of trust. You're also hurting me. Like him."

"No I'm not. Not now."

I snorted.

"I haven't hurt you in _that _way. Wouldn't."

"No, but... What's the difference? I thought I was going to die then... I think I'll… die now."

He sounded surprised. "Do you?"

"Don't you?"

It took a moment too long before he answered. "Not really. We'll be found in the morning."

"How can you be so sure?" A tiny hope wanted to spark in me but I crushed it. I didn't want to get my hopes up, better to not get disappointed when it didn't happen.

"Ehm… I'm not sure. It's just no use to worry in advance." He shrugged.

Suddenly, I was blinded. We both grunted and covered our eyes. The light was back. "I don't know which is worst," I whined. "The dark, or the pain when the light comes back."

Jackson wiped his face with his hand and looked at me with weary eyes, then at his watch, then back at me. "How did he hurt you?"

He was not giving up. I wanted to scream at him but settled with a hiss. "Drop it. What time is it?"

"Quarter past ten. No. I won't drop it. Vent it, Leese. Get it off your chest. You can't just clam up forever. That man's still getting to you, he's still there-" He pointed at my chest. "-still holding that knife to your throat. You haven't told a soul. Why not me?"

"I told you why… And… I told the police," I said quickly. "I've talked... to people," I continued, my voice wavering. "To _friends_."

He raised an eyebrow. "If you'd have told anyone, then I'd have known about it. I'm good with preps and this piece of info just wasn't there. And Leese, sweetheart, you never told the cops. There's nothing in any files."

I crossed my arms over my chest and shuffled away, to the farthest corner. Not far enough. My stomach hurt. The reminder of how he hadn't left any stone unturned in his goal to get to me always gave me the same nauseous feeling.

"He gave you a scar. You were raped. Did you think he was going to kill you?"

Tears welled up in my eyes, totally against my will. I turned my head away. Yes, I had thought I was going to die. Something in me _had_ died. My faith. My sense of self. "Yes," I said in a thick voice. "I was sure he was going to kill me." A thought struck me. I turned my head and looked Jackson in the eyes. "Have you killed people?"

Jackson raised his chin and regarded me from under unruly tresses of dark hair.

"Forget it," I said quickly. "I don't want to know."

"I have," he said.

_How? With your bare hands?_ I looked at his lean, white fingers, resting on his thighs. _Or with a knife? A gun?_

He didn't continue. The elephant in the room was gigantic and my heart slammed in my chest, my throat constricting. _Were you going to kill me? _Are_ you going to kill me?_ Unable to continue thinking about that, I suddenly spoke, my voice small and shaky. "I had just put groceries in the back of my car and had my hand on the handle to open the driver's door. There was a dirty white van parked next to me but I hadn't thought about it twice. He slammed me to the ground…" I took a deep breath. "My head... hit the asphalt hard. His face was shadowed and I had the sun in my eyes. I never saw his face, only that he grimaced, or grinned… his teeth... they glinted." I spoke fast, before my courage failed me. "And then a sharp pain. Here." I pointed at the scar. "And... you know." I hugged my knees and rocked back and forth, looking pleadingly at him.

"How was it possible... you said it was in the middle of the day?"

"He...finished fast." Bile rose in my throat and I retched, panicky turning towards the wall.

"Shshsh." Jackson wrapped his arms around me, scooping me closer to him and into a firm embrace. I sat stiffly, barely breathing. "Why didn't you go to the cops? Call an ambulance? Or a friend? I don't get it," he said, softly. "You must've bled like hell."

At his kind voice the aching lump in my throat was released into a sobbing intake of air and then I couldn't stop the tears any more. "Yeah… it bled, I whispered. "I had a friend, long time ago, who went through that. Very humiliating. I couldn't. I just drove home," I sobbed.

"Okay," he said. Then we sat quietly until I straightened, pulling myself back together, like so many times before.

I began to ease out of his hold and he dropped his arms, releasing me. "You have to let it go. Don't let him win over you, day after day."

I snorted. What would be the use? I would die in a few hours anyway, stuck here... or by his hands. He hadn't said that he wouldn't. And I couldn't ask. I didn't want to hear the answer. I muttered something unintelligible.

"Say what?"

"Don't you think I've tried?" I whispered. The light flickered and then it disappeared again. "Oh no! What do you make of that?" I said and sighed.

"The light? Major malfunction. I don't know. Have you?"

"Have I?" _Oh._ I opened my mouth to protest, but then I shut it again. Had I tried? Or had I just succumbed?

"Why? Why is this important to you?"I blinked in the darkness, trying to adjust once again.

"Oh, it isn't," he answered a little too fast.

"You're lying."

"I am?"

"Yeah… I saw you… when you discovered the scar… Something about it bothered you."

Jackson shuffled nearer until we sat closely side by side again. I didn't move away. It didn't matter anymore. I was too exhausted. "I was very close to say that it bothered me because when I saw it I knew I'd missed something crucial in your background …" He leaned in and spoke softly in my ear. "Because it made all the difference. And I fucked that up."

I nodded and I'm sure he felt the movement.

He was silent a little too long before he spoke again. "But it struck me as… unnecessary… I felt sorry for you." He straightened. "And don't you believe that you'll ever hear me say that again."

I gave out a short laugh.

"I like your laugh," Jackson said, unexpectedly.

"I like yours too." It slipped out before I had thought it over and I bit my lips as I blushed furiously in the dark, for once blessing the lack of light.

We turned silent. I thought about the little he'd said about himself. I was willing to bet it was more than he had told anyone else for a long time. He was probably as unaccustomed to talk about himself as I was. Jackson shifted next to me and I froze when I felt his arm around my shoulders.

"Relax, Lisa Reisert," he whispered in my ear. "I'm not gonna… I'm just cold… and tired…"

I was too. Not so cold. But I was very tired, and agonizingly desolate. "Okay," I whispered back and relaxed slightly into his embrace. He shuffled even closer and our bodies slowly molded into each other's as the time went by.

"I've seen you hit the gym. Run. Swim. You're a good athlete. Were you always like that? What were you like when you were little? How was your home?" His voice was hoarse, unused. I didn't know for how long we had been sitting in the dark.

"I thought you knew all about me?"

"Haven't we already established that? That I've missed pieces?"

"Why the interest?"

"Just passing time. Trying to think about something else than this fucking…" He turned silent.

I thought about it, weighing his question. "Can I ask too?"

I felt him shrug. "Sure."

I thought about the possible danger in telling him about myself. Could he use it against me? But what more could he use? I came to the conclusion that it was much too late for that. He already knew all that mattered.

"Leese?"

I flinched. "Yeah, just thinking. I-"

"-don't want to talk about yourself with me," he interrupted and gave me a small squeeze with his arms.

I shrugged. "Well. My parents are all right, I guess. I'm the only child, and I was probably pampered more than I knew back then." I told him about ballet lessons; about being on the school's Lacrosse team; how I'd always been an out-door girl; my brief era of horse riding before I fell off and hurt my back. "Mom wouldn't let me get back up on the horse after that."

He laughed. Again very pleasantly. We sat so close that I felt the rumble in his chest. A shiver ran through me, but not from chill. "My turn. What do you do on your free time?"

He stiffened, barely noticeable. "I don't have any."

"I don't believe you. I _get_ that it's not nine to five but… And don't squirm out of this now."

"Okay. I work out."

A bolt shot through me. Yeah. I had battled that strength; I felt it in every muscle. "More," I demanded.

"I read."

"Yeah? What kind of books?"

"Ehm… World War two." He hesitated. "History in general, I guess. Memoires."

"Whose?"

"Different."

"Example."

"Politicians… Great leaders'."

"I'm sorry," I said, "but that sounds utterly boring."

"You're hurting me."

"You can't be hurt, remember? Nothing gets to you." I grinned. I couldn't help it. I wanted to hear him get out of that one.

He sighed. "Leese, I… haven't talked this much to anyone… maybe since high school, when I still counted a couple of people as friends. You know, when you let people in, you get hurt. Vulnerable." He sounded serious. Not mocking or cocky at all.

My grin vanished and my cheeks burnt. I swallowed, wincing from the ever-present pain. I _had_ hurt him. I hadn't meant it. I hadn't thought it possible.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, barely audible.

He gave me a brief squeeze again. "Let's just drop it. I'm too tired anyway. My mouth tastes like hell and I have a headache."

I couldn't not say it. He complained about his _head_. I hurt _everywhere_. More than I had ever done in my life, even with all the sports, even after the rape…. "I wish it was only my head that hurt."

"What do you want me to say?" he asked softly.

I didn't reply. What _did_ I want him to say? That he was sorry. But hadn't he in a way already? In his own way? I didn't know. It felt like I didn't know anything anymore.

"The situation has changed, Leese."

"I know," I whispered.

We didn't speak again. After some time I heard Jackson's breathing change into a slow soothing rhythm. I listened to that, and to the occasional squeak from the cables above us in the elevator shaft. The light flickered again and came back. I squinted and peeked at Jackson. He looked as if he slept. I wished I could relax that much. I studied his face, his chin and his nose.

"Did you know you have twenty-five tiny, tiny freckles?" I whispered very quietly. He stirred but didn't respond. The light went out again and I wished it would make up its damn mind.

I twitched awake a couple of times, but finally I must have fallen asleep too.

When I was twelve, we went on vacation to the French Riviera. My father studied the architecture, my mother worked on her tan and I sat by the shore. My hands were full of white shells that I had collected and I was listening to the soothing sounds of the waves that rolled in.

I lay my head on a smooth warm rock and drifted to sleep there. When my father woke me, I'd burnt my left cheek, arm and the left side of my legs. According to Dad, I looked like a striped Christmas decoration, and in spite of the heat I had to cover my sensitive skin in long sleeved tops and trousers for the rest of the trip. Mom was furious, telling me that I'd get cancer.

I wondered what the waves were doing in there. Then, as a cold shiver rolled down my spine, it struck me that it wasn't the warm waves of the Mediterranean Sea. It was the sounds of the wind from far away; it wasn't warm. And I was stuck in an elevator.

I knew I had been very afraid, but I couldn't recall why.

I curled up and drifted back to sleep.

I dreamt of my mother, of warmth. We were wrapping up Christmas gifts for dad. The room was filled with the aroma from her cooking and I was laughing.

Absentmindedly, I scratched my palm and when it stung, I jolted awake again.

It was still dark.

It was still cold.

I was wrapped in a jacket carrying a calming scent I vaguely recognized and that wasn't mine.

I'd been sleeping; embraced by a man I'd come to know as a terrorist, a killer, and a human just like the rest of us. His arm lay loosely wrapped around my shoulders and his touch burnt holes through the fabric and scarred my skin forever.

I think he was awake too. None of us spoke and, slowly, I drifted back to sleep again, huddling closer, searching the little warmth and proof of life I could find.

I wasn't ready to wake just yet.

My nose itched. I raised my hand and scratched it with a crooked finger, remembering the aching palm again. My legs had fallen asleep and my toes were numb. The muscles of my thighs protested as I shifted position.

It was still dark.

My head rested against the warm, evenly rising and falling, chest of Jackson Rippner.

I don't know if he woke too from time to time.

When I swallowed, my throat hurt. Thinking about how we'd fought, how he'd tried to kill me… and how futile it all seemed now, made me grimace, and yet smile. I found it hard to believe that he could ever frighten me again after tonight.

Or would.

I shifted again and slid lower, half-lying, my cheek against the smooth fabric of his wool shirt, my ear to his stomach. It growled. A soft rich scent surrounded me and I couldn't help inhaling deeper to let it fill my nostrils.

I exhaled.

A cable squeaked metallically somewhere above us. An abandoned sound.

I slept again.

Something teased the skin on my neck repeatedly. Like a feather, or a butterfly. I was about to raise a hand to chase it away when I realized what it was. Fighting to draw the next shaky breath and not faint from the sudden inability to use my lungs, I lay as still as I could.

Jackson caressed me. Slowly, sensuously. As if he had the right to, as if he was a lover. I had never imagined him gentle like this.

As if I wasn't cold enough already, goosebumps erupted over my entire body.

Still I didn't move.

I think he might have known I was awake. Maybe we both kept up the innocent charade just a little longer, like a small window of something good in the midst of it all?

Finally he stilled.

I stiffened.

When his hand slowly sank down on my neck, fitting there perfectly, his palm softly covering my bared tender flesh, I imagined for a brief desperate moment that he was going to kill me after all. My heart pumped furiously and I felt lightheaded. I didn't even know if I'd fight it or if I'd just let him - if I'd welcome the escape.

And then it just lay there. Warm. Smooth. A gentle layer of safety on my vulnerable neck.

"Sorry," he whispered and removed it.

"For what?" I mouthed and had to clear my throat. "For what?"

I rubbed the spot on my neck that now felt cold, empty, and naked and sat up next to him. My muscles screamed in pain and I groaned.

"I... Nothing," he said.

"Okay," I whispered and smiled to myself. "It's okay... I won't tell anyone you went soft on me."

At that, he laughed and it blew away some of the tension between us. For better... or worse.

"I wonder what time it is," I sighed, and straightened.

"I have no idea, Lisa."

The cage rocked as he suddenly moved. I heard him get up. "What are you doing?"

"I have to get some warmth back. I'm too fucking cold," he muttered.

I stood too, wincing from the pain that was everywhere. I didn't think there was one single part of my body that didn't hurt. Shifting from one foot to the other, I listened to his pacing. "What do y-" I started, then I whimpered, squeezed my eyelids shut hard and covered my eyes with my palms as the light suddenly came back. "Is it still lit?" I whined behind my hands.

"Six thirty."

"What?"

"Six thirty. You asked me what time it is. It's six thirty. One."

Slowly, wearily, I opened my eyes; my pupils aching in protest from being forced to contract so hard.

A foggy shape came into vision, and as the image cleared, a shiver rushed down my spine. Clear blue eyes, slightly blood stained from exhaustion, a sharp chin and incredibly high cheekbones. Dark tousled hair that partly hung in his eyes. His eyes were small cracks in his pale face, and they gleamed as he watched me.

This was Jackson.

I looked at my feet, inhaled, and glanced at him again.

This was Jackson Rippner.

_'High profile assassinations...'_

It was as if I had forgotten during the long cold hours in the dark. With the physical little intimacies between us, the shared confidences, I had forgotten who the man was that I was trapped in here with.

_Nothing is different from before._

It was subtle, but something changed in the small room. The forgivingness between us vaporized and we both knew who we were and why we were there in the first place.

"It's morning," I acknowledged, and he nodded.

I rubbed my hands and stomped to try to get some circulation back. I was thirsty. The headache that had been a slight background noise during the night was now making itself more heard.

And I needed to pee.

It was inevitable.

Jackson and I avoided eye contact as we walked in circles in the small space. My mind worked overtime, trying to come up with a number of more or less fantastic ideas on how to avoid to pee, or where it would go if I needed to, and how to get some privacy while doing it.

The more I thought about it, the more the need grew until it had started to become a giant dilemma. An increasingly hurtful dilemma. _No way. Just… no way. I'd rather die._ But of course I wouldn't rather die.

I rubbed my chilled legs up and down and jumped a couple of times. Jackson gasped and I steadied myself with a hand against a wall as the cage rocked alarmingly.

"Don't. Fucking. Do. That," he snarled.

I looked around me, as if I could see through the walls. "Do you think it's loose somehow?"

"How the hell should I know?" He had stopped his pacing and glared at me.

His gaze made my heart rate pick up. I didn't know why he was so unfriendly all of a sudden. Maybe he felt death brushing past just as I did at that moment? Maybe he was scared too?

My stomach cramped. "I need to pee." The words hopped out between my lips before I could stop them.

Jackson turned towards me. I knew what he was going to say. I could already see the smirk and hear the lewd comments. Bracing myself, I raised my head and met his gaze.

He looked eternally tired. There was no smirk on his face and all he did was nod.

"I don't know how…" I said quietly and bent my head, my cheeks suddenly as warm as I wished my entire body was.

I heard a short snort and looked up. He looked amused. "You don't know how to pee?"

"Come _on_," I retorted angrily. "You know what I mean. I don't know how to manage it in _here_… not making a smelly mess all over… and with _you_…" I inhaled deeply, let the air back out and fought the cramp in my lower stomach, squeezing my thighs tight.

"Yeah, yeah. I get it, but you asked for it."

"I didn't ask for any of this!" I snarled.

"Neither did I, Leese. Neither did I." He looked at me, glanced around the small space and then back at me. Behind me were the doors and his gaze shifted from me to the doors.

When he suddenly took a step forward, I backed.

"What? Are you scared of me, Leese?" The taunt in his voice was back. The hint of a double meaning, gave me goosebumps.

I swallowed anxiously. "Just careful."

He grinned and stretched his arms towards me. I tried to dodge away, but he slammed one palm against the wall behind me and laid the other on my hip.

I pushed at his chest. "What are you doing?"

"Hang on a minute," he said, as he started searching along the side of my right hip and then let his other arm down, patting my left side. A turmoil of panic surged through me and I pushed again at his chest. If he had decided to hurt me somehow… I wasn't sure I had enough strength left to defend myself anymore. I swayed as Jackson suddenly took a step back, smirking, holding a folded envelope in his hand. He waved triumphantly with the paper. "Some numbers. Got no real use for those now…"

I frowned. I didn't get the meaning of his sudden glee at all.

His smirk transformed into more of a smile and my heart trembled for a beat as his eyes suddenly glittered. "Here's what you do, Leese." He pointed behind me, at the doors. "Look at the crack."

I turned and looked at it and then back at him, starting to think he had finally lost it. He wanted to use the paper to try to squeeze us out through there, or what?

He unfolded the envelope. "You sit, hold this in an angle under you and let it pour through the crack under the doors. No mess. Get it?"

I stared at him in amazement. _That _was why he'd patted my body? Not because he intended to hurt me, but to help me pee. My lips twitched and, before I could stop it, I started to laugh.

Jackson looked hurt. "What's with you? It's a good plan."

I laughed until tears started to spill on my cheeks. "It…" I sobbed. "It _is_…" I giggled hysterically. "I just thought… thought…" I wiped the wetness off my face with the sleeve of his jacket. "Give it to me." I stretched my arm towards him. The look on his face sent me into a fit again. No matter how silly the reason, it was liberating to laugh a little.

Jackson handed me the piece of paper and I finally calmed. I waved at him, still with a smile on my lips. "You'll have to turn around."

He put his hands on his hips and leaned against the wall. "Oh, I wouldn't wanna miss this for the world."

I froze and stared at him, the remains of my smile vanishing in an instant. My heart began to pound harder again. _You are not serious!_

Now it was his turn to laugh. "_That_ face was worth everything!"

I was still dead serious. "I need you to turn around, Jackson." There was _nothing_ funny about this.

Without a word, he turned and took the few steps until he faced the opposite wall.

Quickly, I pulled down my torn stockings, my panties, and lifted my skirt and the jacket with one hand as I held the paper under me with the other. My legs barely obeyed me when I crouched, and I trembled from the pain of using my abused limbs. The ache in my lower stomach increased as I tried to relax. And nothing happened. I was too damn self-conscious about his presence; too awkward; too afraid that he would suddenly turn around and see me naked.

"Don't turn," I said.

He shifted his stance. "I promise, Leese, take it easy."

"I need you to cover your ears to."

I could almost envision the smug look on his face, but he kindly raised his arms and covered his ears.

And finally it worked.


	7. Plainly The Sheep And The Wolf

**Author's Note:** Thank you every one who reads and a VERY sincere thank you for all the reviews.

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**Chapter 7. Plainly The Sheep And The Wolf Are Not Agreed Upon The Definition Of The Word Liberty **_(Abraham Lincoln)_

After, it was my turn to give him his privacy.

I turned my back to him and weighed on my toes, wriggling them, trying to get some warmth back into my limbs.

A slight nausea vibrated within. It wasn't until then I realized how stressful it had been; the desperate need to pee. Now other discomforts made themselves heard more clearly. My head pounded and my mouth felt like sandpaper. My stomach was in knots, hungry, and still not. There was a constant ache in my throat and, even if I stretched cautiously, every muscle in my body protested.

I shivered and glanced at Jackson's back. He was a painfully beautiful man; it was impossible not to take notice of that fact. His eyes had captured my attention right from the first gaze. Back in the check-in line. He had smiled. He'd been standing up to me. He had seemed so sweet; both confident and slightly shy at the same time._ Had it all been faked? _I thought of his 'occupation'…and how indifferent he seemed about it. I shook my head. _Probably, Leese._

Our relation had changed so much during the night, during our forced closeness. The imprint of his arms around my body had marked me; the bizarrely safe feeling of being close without any demands was something I could have gotten used to. _In other circumstances._ And still we were the same as we had been when we embarked on this journey. Had to be the same. He was still a terrorist, even if he had warm hands, a scent that turned my head, and a chest I could sleep on. I was still his victim.

_Dad! _I had pushed the thoughts of him deep down, trying to stay sane. The reminder stabbed at my heart, making it hurt again.

I looked around at the steely walls and the low ceiling. Now that he was finished with his private business, I studied the damn unyielding doors as well. We were stuck here. Maybe we would die together here? The thought didn't give me any panic attacks any more. Neither did the narrow space. I was beyond that.

Jackson yawned and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. His yawn was contagious, and I put a hand over my mouth as a stretched my jaws as well. He looked at me and smiled, the action making his eyes glitter for a second. I smiled back.

"Didn't get enough rest?" He nodded at me.

I shook my head. "Neither did you, I gather."

There was an awkward moment when we stared at each other. I remembered how he had caressed me when my head had been resting against his slowly rising and falling chest. His touch had been so gentle and his fingers so warm. Then I shrugged it off and squared my shoulders. Nothing to dwell on.

He shook his head. "Worse than the worst motel I've ever stayed at; and that's saying a lot. Not even _soiled _sheets at this one. And no breakfast. I could seriously do with some scrambled eggs and ham."

I gave out a short laugh. "And coffee," I added. My stomach contracted painfully at the thought of food.

He turned serious and chewed on his lip. "We don't get out of here… we'll soon get more rest than we asked for."

My heart sank and the smile that had lingered on my lips faded. "Yeah…" I whispered, wondering how it would be. Would it be painful? Or would we just drift off into sleep? Dehydration would kill us first I'd heard. But I couldn't imagine what it would feel like. I jerked when he stretched a hand and stroked my cheek with the back of his hand.

"Don't look so sad, Lisa Reisert. If we get out, we get out… if not… then there are worse ways to go. Trust me on this one." He let his arm drop.

I frowned and decided that he was right. There was nothing to be afraid of. There was nothing to fight. If our time was up, there was nothing we could do about it. I could mourn my life if I wanted, I could dwell on the kids I never would have, the love I would never experience. Or I could choose not to.

_Haven't you already been in here for the last two years of your life, Leese? You've locked yourself in so perfectly already that you'd never given anybody a chance to get close anyway. How would you have gotten the children? The husband?_

I nodded slowly to myself. He was right. I had been so wrong. Funny that it would take an involuntary imprisonment in an elevator to find that out. And that the person pointing it out to me would be a professional murderer.

Funny.

Or sad. Because it was too late for everything.

I smiled faintly at him and closed my eyes. "Thank you," I whispered.

I heard him come closer. "For what," he asked in a low voice.

I swallowed and opened my eyes, finding that he stood right before me, his eyes intent on mine. "For giving me some of your strength," I answered honestly. I heard how raw my voice had become; the lack of moist in my throat making it harsher.

Jackson's gaze didn't falter and neither did mine as he leaned closer. "I can't give you something you didn't already possess yourself," he whispered.

My heart pounded hard in my chest as I tilted my head when he leaned even closer, his blue eyes now a blur, taking up my entire world._ Are you going to kiss me, Jackson?_ A shiver ran down my spine and I closed my eyes as I felt his breath on my lips.

Then I stiffened and flipped open my eyes with a start. A metallic 'dank' and a distant voice had pulled me back to reality. From the look on Jackson's face, he'd heard it too. As if on cue, we threw ourselves at the doors, hammering at them with our fists and screaming at the top of lungs.

"HELP! WE'RE IN HERE! WE'RE STUCK IN THE ELEVATOR! HELP US!"

We stopped and listened. I panted hard from excitement and agony. _Pleasepleaseplease! _

For a frighteningly eternal moment, there was just silence.

Then we heard the voices again, closer.

"WE'RE IN THE ELEVATOR! HELP US! YOU HAVE TO HELP US GET OUT OF HERE! DO YOU HEAR US?" I yelled at the top of my lungs.

With our fists resting on the cold metal surface of the doors, we listened again, glancing at each other. This time we heard a faint 'hello'.

I could have fallen into a heap of gratitude. I grabbed my shoe from the floor and slammed it repeatedly at the doors. "HELLO! HELP!"

This time the voices were nearer. "There's people here… Hello! Someone in there?"

"YES!" we both yelled, glancing at each other and then back at the doors.

"We're in here; we've stuck in the elevator the whole night. You have to get us out!" Jackson said.

"Fuck! Dennis, hey! Hey! There's people here!" Something slammed at the door from the outside. "How did you get here? Are you okay in there? How many are you?"

I trembled with relief. Everything was going to be okay. It wasn't my turn to die just yet.

"Two! We're two!" I rasped.

"Just take it easy, you two. We'll get you out, okay. Are you hurt?"

I glanced at Jackson; a slight feeling of unease crept up on me. "No. No, we're okay," I said. I must be bruised. I must be really bruised, clear evidence that maybe I wasn't being honest with them.

"Okay…" The man on the other side turned silent for a moment. "Here's what we'll have to do: we'll need a couple of tools to get the doors opened. You just stay put. Don't panic, help's on its way. Okay?"

"We won't be going anywhere," Jackson replied and I felt the corners of my mouth twitch.

I heard movements outside. "Hey. Do we need to call an ambulance or something? We don't know shit, pardon my French, Ma'am, about medical emergencies, we're maintenance… "

"No, no," I said. "Just get back soon, _please_!" My voice had taken on a slightly hysterical tone.

"Easy, lady," the man said. "My partner's already gone to fetch the stuff. Damn! How the fuck did you guys get caught in there? This is a closed section of the terminal."

I felt Jackson's eyes on me as I inhaled. "We… got lost… just a stupid mistake…" I swallowed nervously and glanced in his direction. My heart pounded harder. _We're getting out!_ _We're getting out, and then what? _I glanced at him again. His face was unreadable, like carved in stone. I inhaled and tried to shape into words what I was thinking. I closed my mouth again. I didn't know how to ask it. I didn't want to hear the answer. I inhaled again, my heart pounding. _And then what? What happens now?_ Then I clamped my lips shut and stared at the doors. I was still clutching one of my shoes in my hands. It might come in handy.

As the minutes ticked by, I got increasingly nervous.

Dad! How is he? I need to make a call! I need to get to him!

Jackson stood still and didn't say anything. He had his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall on one side of the doors. I paced the floor on the other side.

I stopped, my heart racing. "Are you still there!" I yelled.

"Yes, I'm here," came the calm reply from the man. "You'll be okay. What's your name?"

My eyes darted to Jackson again. "I'm Lisa."

"Okay, Lisa. Don't panic. My partner's returning now, we'll get you out in no time. Take it easy."

'_Easy.' 'Don't panic.' Easy for _you_ to say!_ But I remained still and focused on my breathing. "Just get us out."

Jackson didn't say a word. And he didn't move. I avoided looking at him anymore, because every time I did, a shiver ran down my spine. He seemed to be thinking… stuff… and I couldn't figure out what.

It frightened me. He was plotting. But then again, so was I.

A metallic sound reverberated through the shaft, and then I heard the unmistakable sounds from tools falling on a hard surface. I almost fainted with relief. _Soon._

"Stand back a little in there, will ya!"

Jackson and I stepped back. I reached down and put one of my shoes back on. I heard them work with the doors, it sounded like something was being twisted inside of them.

A hand gripped my arm and my head snapped to meet with Jackson's blue stare just as the crack started to grow between the doors. He never got to say anything before the beautiful sight of a middle-aged man in blue clothes and a cap came in sight.

Jackson let go of my arm. I inhaled and was just about to ask him what he had meant to say, when the crack, with a whining sound, grew wide enough to climb through. I took a step forward, trembling, clutching my shoe.

The man on the other side smiled. "Hey, Lisa. Good to see ya!" Then his eyes darted to look behind me, smiling at Jackson too.

I took another step, the skin on my back prickling from Jackson's presence behind me. "Help me up, please!"

The elevator had stopped one third of the way down to the next floor. Two arms stretched towards me and I reached for them, glancing back once at Jackson who had come closer, his eyes intent on mine. The hair at the back of my neck stood straight up, then I was being lifted, away from Jackson and out of my involuntary imprisonment.

Two wonderful men stared at me. I could have fallen into their arms for releasing me. "Th… thank you," I breathed and put my second shoe back on. I glanced behind me once more, Jackson's eyes met with mine. I watched them glint and then I bolted.

_Dad! I need to get to dad!_ I saw the surprise on their faces as I turned on my heels and started to run. One of them said something I didn't catch. Then I heard Jackson, loud and clear. "Any of you guys have a cell phone?"

I stumbled and almost fell before I could control my footing again. A shiver ran down my spine and my stomach clenched. _Of course! Oh, GOD! I _have_ to get to a phone before _he_ does!_

Abruptly, almost unexpectedly, we had gone back to being enemies again. Was it my fault? Because I ran? If I'd stayed… talked to him… Maybe we'd have come to some sort of agreement?

_What did you think? Don't fool yourself. He is who he is… nothing has changed that. Don't imagine, even for one second, that this night changed anything… _I saw his face before me… only a few moments ago… _You almost kissed me… _

My body ached and I tripped a couple of times on my heels. I was stiff and bruised and unused to moving after the long hours in the elevator. As I sprinted through the long dark corridor and slammed open the door at the other end, entering the indoor walkway once more, I wondered briefly what I looked like. I was still wearing Jackson's jacket which was too big for me; my stockings were ripped beyond recognition; my knees were scraped and I assumed my hair looked like I had just woken up and that my make up would be everywhere but where I'd once put it.

There were way too many people around me, and from their stares and how they shielded their children as I darted past them, I realized I must look like a homeless, like a drug addict… like someone I'd have avoided myself only a few hours ago. I wondered how much time that had passed since I'd left Jackson. Two minutes? Three? I had no time.

There was only one thing to do.

Once I was inside the terminal again, I ran to the nearest open place, a small coffee bar with a few adjacent tables. Ignoring the customers in line, I darted to the young man by the counter, slamming my palms against the marble surface.

"Help me," I rasped. "I need to call the police!" I panted heavily. In the corners of my eyes I saw everybody staring at me. "I've been robbed!"

The man gaped and handed me a phone without any questions. His other hand was still frozen in mid-air, holding a spoon.

Dialing the well-known number, I waited impatiently for my dad to pick up while I glanced around me. There was no sight of Jackson. Beep after beep was heard. Still no Jackson. My heart began to sink and my legs trembled. _Dad!_

Finally, I slammed the phone down on the counter in the middle of the cappuccinos and lattes.

"Thank you," I breathed and turned, glancing around me. _Taxi! I need a taxi!_

Behind me someone shouted something, but I didn't stay and listen. I needed to get to my dad before someone else did. I shuddered. Where _was_ said someone by the way?

Running down the walkway again, I headed for the exit. There was no sign of Jackson, but I'm not sure I would have noticed if he'd been sprinting right next to me. I had only one thought in my mind, and that was to get to my father at all costs.

I jumped over bags and trolleys, and darted between people. From a distance, I saw the exit signs as I accidentally pushed a man in my way.

"Hey!" He didn't sound too happy.

"Sorry," I panted, and was already far past him.

The yellow taxis stood in a long line. People were mainly arriving, not so many were departing. An elderly couple was getting inside the first car. I darted to the second in line and pulled the door open. The driver looked skeptically at me, his gaze shifting between my hair and my torn stockings.

"Blossom Palms Lane," I breathed. "FAST!" I added.

He didn't move, except raising an eyebrow. "Ahm… do you have any money, Ma'am?" His voice nasal and his accent from somewhere north.

"I _have_ money," I snarled. It wasn't true, but that was a minor problem. "I've been robbed," I added, a little less hostile. "I need to get home. Please, drive! I can pay you when we get there." My instinct to simply throw him out of the driver's seat and just steal the car was huge.

"Won't ya be needing the cops then?" he asked slowly, still not getting the hurry at all.

I almost jumped with impatience and glanced back at the exit as I leaned closer to the driver. "I _need_ to get home. _Now!_" I glanced at the people outside on the sidewalk. _Where _is_ he?_

Maybe it was the fancy address that did it, I don't know, but to my immense relief, he put the gear in drive, looked me over once more, pulled out, and we were off.

My head pounded, my chest ached. My throat was dry and every swallow hurt. _Dad! Oh, dad. Where are you? _How_ are you? _My fear was almost physically painful. I wasn't sure I could live with myself if I'd have killed him. I leaned closer to the thick plastic wall that separated us. "Do you have a phone I can use? Please?" He hesitated, then he stretched out his hand and hitched up a phone from the compartment between the seats and handed it to me through the little window. "Thanks," I rasped. My hands trembled so hard when I tried to dial that I had to delete and try again three times before I got it right. My chest ached when ring after ring was heard and no one picked up. Without a word I handed it back.

"No luck?"

"No," I snapped tersely.

It was a twenty-minute drive. It was early Saturday morning and there weren't a lot of traffic. I stared unseeingly at the cars we passed and the industrial areas beside the highway. I leaned forward. "Faster, can we please drive faster?"

"Ma'am, I'm already at the speed limit."

"Please…" My voice broke. Clearing my throat, my eyes filling with tears from the pain, I made another attempt. "Please…" I looked at the driver's license displayed on the dashboard. "Ed… I've reasons to believe my father's been robbed too… or worse… ahm…" The tears that started dripping were real and my voice turned into a harsh whisper that burnt like acid. "Can we please go faster?"

Ed looked in his rear mirror, meeting my gaze. "You…" he started. I felt the speed increase slightly. "Ya really look like shit… All this true?"

I nodded silently. "Please… I'm not making it up." _'I'm not making this up, Leese…' _I couldn't shake him off me; Jackson's words rung in my ears. Every little thing he'd said… every little touch… And with each mile I lay between him and me it hurt a little bit more.

The driver increased the speed again, and to my relief we soon started passing all the other cars, shifting swiftly between the lanes. He shook his head and fingered on the beads that hung on a string from his mirror. "So help me God…"

As the scenery changed quickly outside my window, I watched my own reflection in it. I stared at my pale face; my eyes seemed dark, hollow… not like his… His had been bright… lively… either flashing with warmth and compassion, or glinting with malice, chilling me and making my chest clench with fear.

Just the thought of him made my stomach tighten. Even now.

What had he wanted to say to me at that last moment in the elevator? Our last moment together… before we were saved…before we went back to being predator and prey again… Wolf and sheep. _You almost kissed me! _A shiver slithered along my spine. As I pulled the jacket tighter around my tired body, a scent drifted up from the warmth under the fabric, making me let go of it as if I had burnt my fingers.

_Why? Why everything? _

I focused on what was outside the car instead. It was much easier to comprehend. The industries outside had been replaced by small houses, which were lined up next to each other in perfect rows with perfect cut lawns in front of them and white picket fences.

That's what I'd thought I wanted - a lifetime ago - to have a house like that… to have a life like that… children… a husband… I shuddered and shook my head. _No. No man._ _Just… never… _Jackson's face appeared before me; he cocked his head and looked right through my barriers and into my wounded soul. _'I know how lonely you've been…' _I clenched my fists until it hurt. _You. Don't. Know. Shit! _My eyes filled with tears. Dad's street was right after the next turn. I unbuckled and shifted in my seat, stretching my neck to try to catch the first glimpse of his house. My heart rate picked up and I felt short of breath all of a sudden.

I was so sure of what I was going to meet and it hurt so much that I could barely breathe at all. I couldn't see that there would ever be a happy ending to this. I'd broken the deal between Jackson and myself and I was going to have to face the repercussions. He may have played me good, but not on that one.

The huge trees by the street hid his house initially. I gasped when I saw the black and white police car outside. _Oh, GOD!_ My head spun; frightening, terrifying images of my father lying dead, slaughtered, flashed before me.

The taxi didn't even come to a full stop before I slammed the door open and jumped out. I stumbled and fell, the asphalt scraping my knees but I barely felt it.

Ed, the taxi driver, screamed something behind me. I never glanced back at him as I got up and rushed to the front door. My trembling fingers couldn't grip the doorknob at first, but then I almost ripped the door from its frame with the force of my fear.

"DAD!" I screamed into the empty hallway. There was no sound inside and everything looked tidy, clean, abandoned. _Dead._ I took a hesitant step forward, glancing around me. "DAD!"

A sob escaped me as I ran a few steps without knowing where to look first. I stopped flat when I heard voices from the back of the house, changed direction and stumbled into the kitchen.

I wasn't prepared for the sight at all.

I'd been prepared for blood, my dad lying dead on the floor somewhere. I'd tried to steel myself to be able to face the incomprehensible hurt I knew I'd feel. I saw the back of a cop's uniform. He was standing by the counter in the middle of the room. Next to him was his twin-like colleague. They turned around when I staggered into the room, and as they moved the distance between them grew.

"Leese?" a soft well-known voice said, and my father's worried face came into vision.

The room began swirling around me and I stretched a hand towards him for support. I watched the floor coming at me and then I passed out.


	8. Sometimes To Realize You Were Well

For a desperate reviewer. :)

::

**Chapter 8. Sometimes To Realize You Were Well Someone Must Come Along And Hurt You **_**(Perry Farrell)**_

::_**  
**_

"Look at the marks on her neck." A feather-light touch on my skin. It reminded me vaguely of someone else's touch.

_Jackson._

"Yeah…"

"Someone tried to choke her."

_No…_

"You're right, Mendez. She's been beaten. I'd say she put up a good fight, though…"

_No._

"What are you saying? Someone tried to kill my daughter?"

_No!_

"Seems like it, Sir. From the battle bruises. Look at her fingernails. Several broken. Look at the black marks on her legs and chin. I betcha there are defense wounds on her arms as well."

Something soft was tucked under my head and a soft warm hand stroked my cheek.

_Jackson…_

_DAD!_

I bolted up from the floor, stared with complete disbelief at my father crouching before me, then I threw my arms around his neck. "Dad!" I croaked. "I thought…" It hurt so much to even think it, even more to say it out loud. "I thought you were dead…"

He lifted his head and broke the embrace. "That _I_ was dead? Leese… you went missing… completely missing… Then there was a missile attack against the Lux Atlantic… then you suddenly show up, looking like someone tried to rip you to pieces… And you thought _I_ was dead?"

"Attack? There was an attack? How did…? How did everybody…?" The lump in my throat grew until I thought it would choke me. "Keefe? Cynthia?"

"Leese… I know…" He stretched out a hand to the cops. "We know you called. Cynthia told them. You saved everybody."

_Oh thank God!_

"And then you just went missing… I thought you were dead…" He swallowed hard. "They came last night… after the attack… looking for you." He nodded at the cops. "And then…when you still hadn't shown up, or even tried to call when the whole night had passed, I had to call them again… Leese…. I thought…" His voice broke and he couldn't continue.

I nodded as tears started to fall. _You don't know…_ "Dad… so much has happened… you were in danger… I have so much to tell you…" I looked at the two police men. Their presence here, yesterday and today, had probably saved my father's life. _Thank God!_ I wondered if Jackson had called his associate. If he'd been on his way here but had to change his mind.

Dad helped me up and we re-grouped by the kitchen table. My father put on some coffee and made me a couple of sandwiches. I wrapped a blanket around me; my trembling never seemed to cease. The two cops introduced themselves.

"Eric Lindberg."

"Hi, Lisa Reisert." I shook his hand, wincing a little when he crushed my hand in his.

"Eddie Mendez." He stretched his hand, and I let go of the first cop's to shake it.

"Li... Ed!" I rushed up, knocking the chair over in the haste, the blanket falling to the floor. Everybody stared as I stormed out of the house.

The taxi driver was standing coolly, leaning his back against the car and smoking a cigarette. He grinned when he saw me. "Meter's still running, honey…"

I stopped flat in front of him, panting. "You're kidding…"

He started to grin and then he looked behind me and his expression turned awkward. I glanced over my shoulder and saw my dad and the two cops at the entrance.

The taxi driver shifted his gaze towards me again. "Ya weren't jokin' 'bout… things…?" He looked incredulous.

_Are you stupid? _"How much do I owe you," I asked tiredly.

"Ehm…" He glanced inside his cab. "Forty-six bucks, Ma'am."

"I'll be right back. And stop the meter, please."

As I turned back to the little group of men, my father was just returning from inside the house. He held a small paper in his hand. "How much do we owe him, Leese?"

"Thanks, dad. Forty-six."

He signed the check and came down the steps towards me. He looked at me again and squeezed my arm as he reached me. "God, Leese…"

I grasped his hand and squeezed back, nodding. _I know, dad. I know._

As the driver received the check and tucked the small paper away, a car drove around the corner, entering Blossom Palms Lane. With its dark windows and sleek contours, the black sedan was a stark contrast to the peaceful bright street. Dad didn't seem to notice anything as he said something to the taxi driver.

Time stopped and all I sensed was my own heavy heartbeats as it approached. _Thud. Thud. Thud._ Even the birds had turned silent.

I saw the silhouette of the driver inside as it slowed down in front of us. I exhaled shakily.

_Jackson?_

Everything inside me screamed danger and still I couldn't move, morbidly fascinated to see what was going to happen. It was him. I knew it with a certainty that frightened me.

The car almost came to a full stop, then the driver revved the engine with a roar and left black marks in the asphalt as it sped off along the street, disappearing around the next corner.

My head spun and I inhaled again, lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, barely aware of the taxi before me, dad, the slight breeze, and the sun that had started to climb the roof at the other side of the street as morning started to turn into day.

_He came to kill us? _

_You came to kill me?_

As a wave of nausea rose inside me, I smiled bleakly at the taxi driver and spun around, hurrying back into the safety of the house with my father in tow.

::

That night I slept at my father's. He wouldn't have it any other way and I needed the safe haven and something to distract me. Being alone with myself tonight was unthinkable. I was afraid of the memories, of my thoughts, and - maybe - of him. The issue that I could still be in danger from Jackson hadn't even come up. The fact that he so obviously hadn't been chasing me around the airport after our escape from the elevator, and that he hadn't been seen since, made everybody believe he was long gone. And that was the rational thing to believe at this point.

I can't say I knew better, because I didn't. The fact was, though, that I hadn't told anybody about the black car at my dad's street. It had seemed so stupid to say something about it initially, when there were so many more urgent matters to tend to. And then it felt awkward to mention because I hadn't spoken about it right after it happened. Caught in a Catch 22.

Dad held his arms around me as we had sat on his big couch in front of the TV. I just needed to be little again, just for one night. None of us watched what was on; I can't even recall anything about it. We stared at the flickering Christmas lights in the window as the room turned several shades darker. Night was falling. It was two days before Christmas.

A tear swam at the corner of my eye and I blinked it away. I would never be the same again. Yet another assault, yet another man, had changed my life for the worse. Again. And still I couldn't be angry. I was too tired. I was so confused.

After the rape I had been so profoundly hurt; the very core in me had been reduced to nothingness, to just being an object that anyone could grab and tear to pieces. It had taken a long time to start to build some confidence again. And now I didn't know what I felt. I should be hurt and frightened, back to square one. But I wasn't. I had fought back. I had really fought back this time. I had been strong, stronger than ever… and I when I thought I had lost, I had actually won. Everybody was still alive.

And it was all thanks to me.

I stirred in Dad's embrace. "I'm going to take a bath and then get some sleep."

He let go of me. "You do that, pumpkin. You know where the towels are? Your bed is made… it always is…" He smiled.

I smiled back as I rose, squeezing his hand. "Thanks, I know. Good night if we don't see each other."

"Good night, sweetheart. Will you be all right?"

_No. _"Yes, dad."

When the darkness of the winter night finally laid its merciful cloak over the horrors of that day and the night preceding it, I sat on the edge of the bathtub in my mother's old bathroom at the second floor. It had been abandoned since she'd moved out three years ago, but the memory of her perfumed moisturizers, her jewels and the expensive lingerie still lingered in the very femininely peach-colored room.

My mother and I weren't very alike. I'd always been more of a tomboy, more of a Daddy's girl, but that night I ached to be little again, to rest peacefully against my mother's soft chest, while listening to her humming me to sleep.

But I wasn't little anymore, and peace was long gone.

I winced as I carefully removed the soft pants I'd been wearing during the latter part of the day. I smiled faintly at the memory of Cynthia when she'd seen me. She'd taken one glance at me and then she had sneered at the men in my company. _'Don't _any_ of you men see the state she's in?' _Cynthia wasn't one to raise her voice often. Even I had flinched. Then she had taken me to the staff's room behind Reception, left in a hurry and soon come back with a pair of navy blue soft pants of a famous brand and a pair of sneakers accompanying that.

She had snickered as I tried to remove my stockings from my torn and bloodied legs. "They didn't even let you change?"

I had shaken my head. "It was my fault, really… I didn't think of it. I needed to get here as fast as possible."

"Leese…" She'd shaken her head. "You need to think about yourself once in a while… today had been a good day to start… you know…"

Paramedics had already been at the hotel when I got there. They had been restless and bored because they hadn't had anything to do. Two cheerful guys had examined me, bandaging the worst of the bruises, concluding that nothing seemed to be broken and that I didn't have any cuts in need of stitches. Of course they had encouraged me to go to the hospital as soon as possible. I had mumbled something that I thought would get them off my back and then I got to work.

I had inspected the damages to the building together with the cops, an armada of higher-ups from the Lux Enterprise, and with Cynthia and my father supportively in the background. It had been a depressing sight; the damages had been extensive. It would take six months to a year to repair.

A year for me to be reminded every single day I came to work…

_Damn you, Jackson Rippner._

My head felt light from the lack of sleep and, on top of that, I had been questioned for a couple of hours by first the Miami police and then the FBI. It hadn't been too bad. Even though I'd made the first call to place the Keefes in the bombed suite, the second call and Cynthia's testimony along with a few others' from the plane made the only accusation hanging at the end of the day being my own.

My feeling of guilt suffocated me, made me feel less human and more of a beast… more like _him_.

I tore at the bandages, my knees, elbows, a shoulder, an ankle, a wrist, unwrapping them and dropping them to the floor, not caring that my wounds might bleed again. I needed this bath. _Needed it._

The water was hot. It was hotter than I usually preferred it, but maybe it was both a way of cleansing myself and a punishment at the same time… If I suffered, then the burden of what I'd done might ease.

Might.

Gasping, I pushed myself deeper and deeper, feeling like I would melt and dissolve. And for a while I wished for it, for my sins. My toes curled and almost cramped from the pain when the skin on my bruised body came in contact with the water.

Finally, I lay still. The water reached my neck and I was beginning to sweat. I tried to picture how every wrong I'd done evaporated through my pores and into the mist. And I had made so many wrongs… Finding him attractive. Flirting mindlessly. Giving in and making the call. Not fighting him hard enough. Not running fast enough. Hiding in that _damn_ elevator. Finding him less and less of a monster. Sympathizing with him. Wanting him to kiss me…

Missing his company… Missing his damn _company_! The self-loathing threatened to swallow me whole and I would never speak to a single soul of this. Ever.

I was sweating profusely and had to sit up a little on the edge of the tub to cool off my upper body before I'd give myself a heart attack. I stared at my palm. It was sore and swollen. After lathering it and rinsing it clean, I examined the wound. That was where the stone had embedded itself when I had fallen to the floor at some point early on in the elevator. When we'd still been fighting… The flesh was tender and raw but no matter how hard I looked, I couldn't find any trace of the evil sharp little stone that had been there.

'_Was it as good for you…?'_ I shuddered and sank back into the water again, letting it cover my shoulders, my neck, and finally I inhaled and disappeared completely below the lathery surface.

What if he'd come? What if he'd be here when I came back to the surface? Would he come to hurt me? Would I scream? Or would I welcome it? Death? Pain? Or something else? The warm water made my hair flow around my head, caressing my face like soft tentacles, like craving fingers.

I burst to the surface, inhaling deeply and staring around the room. My heart hammered in my chest. _No._ _Jesus, no._ _I'm going insane._ The room was empty. Of course it was.

My hand trembled as I looked at it. He had been holding it… he'd hurt it… me… _But you removed the stone._ _You removed the stone… _I flexed my fingers and stared at the wound. I don't know why that thought hurt so much. Was it because he had done that little thing to help me? Or that I had thought that he'd only been trying to injure me? That I'd actually been unfair?

I tightened my fist until I gasped. The pain made me feel alive; made me stay in the reality, in the world where he was nothing but bad. I kept the fist tightened hard as I stepped out of the bath and grabbed a towel with the other hand. Wrapping it around me, I bent down and pulled the plug, draining the tub.

My palm pounded and kept reminding me that I had a wound to tend to so I fiddled with the locker and found some gauze and some iodine. Possibly too old, but I didn't have the energy to go down the stairs and ask my dad. I patched it up, not very nicely, difficult with only one hand, then I left the bathroom and walked the few steps to my old room.

I shivered; the good feeling from the warm water was quickly fading as I let the towel drop and quickly stepped into a pair of my father's pajama pants and a simple white T-shirt.

Yanking the bedspread off the bed, a row of old teddy bears flying through the air and crashing soundlessly to the floor, I climbed between the cool sheets. They smelled of fabric softener and felt like silk on my skin, and I had never slept in such a luxurious bed in my life.

My head sank heavy onto the pillow.

Only then did I realize that I hadn't brushed my teeth… still. I couldn't even remember when I had done it the last time… Was it yesterday morning? Only? It felt more like it must've been a week ago.

_What the hell… I'll do it tomorrow… _

_Tomorrow is another day. _

_An entirely new day._

I began to drift off, needing to sleep, to get away so badly that it was bound never to happen.

The feeling of alarm came later; twitching me back to the surface of my consciousness, washing over my mind with a suffocating feeling matching the real suffocation Jackson had put me through in the elevator. I grasped for my throat, expecting to feel rough hands and strong spindly fingers, but felt nothing but the soreness on my skin. My chest ached from renewed fear, my body's late reaction to the trauma, because I didn't know for sure that I even had anything to be afraid of. The likelihood that he would come after me after all the attention he had got, and with the police and the FBI looking for him, was probably very small. At least that was what they told me. And still. I couldn't contain it and curled up in a fetal position, clutching my chest with my hands balled into fists, pulling my knees up to protect me and the tenderness inside.

I saw his eyes before me; twinkling, angry, indifferent, cold, fiery. Then I squeezed my own shut and finally began drifting off to sleep, twitching awake time and time again, dreaming of being chased, of endless corridors, of threading through muddy water, unable to use my legs.

The last coherent thought in my mind was an image.

_He looked shy and innocently hopeful. His eyes glittered. _

_And then he kissed me._

I heard a faint rustle of feet on gravel outside and a car that passed by. Normal sounds on a fairly early Saturday evening.

Then I slept, oblivious to the world.

::

I woke with a start. The room was still dark and everything was quiet. Yet I knew something had changed. It was a sound… the faintest sound of someone else's breathing. And a scent I vaguely recognized.

My heart pounded hard as I slowly turned my head. I was right; I wasn't alone. Someone sat at the edge of my bed. I blinked to clear my eyes.

_Dad?_

My confused state of mind couldn't think of any other possibility until the shape grew clearer as my eyes adjusted to the dusky room.

The silhouette was leaner than my father, and had thicker, longer hair. I inhaled sharply to scream when a hand clamped down on my mouth. Hard.

"You really don't want your dad to wake up," a male voice whispered tersely.

I stared in disbelief at the man leaning heavily on me. _This is a dream!_ Even in the dark his pale eyes glinted. _Jackson. Oh, my God… it isn't…He's really here._ I trembled under him and shook my head. My heart beat so fast it made me dizzy. I grabbed around his hand, trying to remove it, but he didn't budge. I shook my head again and tried to say that I wouldn't scream.

The silence grew awkward as we glared at each other. His skin was cold against my sleep-warm cheeks. Then he broke the moment. "I'm gonna remove my hand… and you are not going to make a sound. Do you understand?"

A hot tear rolled down my left cheek as I nodded. I was going to protect my father at all costs. Anything else was unthinkable.

Slowly, he lifted his hand, leaving a trace of saltiness on my lips. "Good girl."

I pulled up my blanket tighter around my body and scooted away from him. I didn't get far as his hand shot out to grip around my wrist.

"What do you want?" I whispered, trying to yank loose. "What are you doing here?"

In the pale light from the street lamp, I saw him grin. "What do you think I want?" he countered.

_How the hell should I know? _"Kill me?" I tried, raising my chin defiantly, hoping intensely I was wrong.

"Ah. You know me too well."

His voice was hoarser than I remembered it. It made me shudder. I yanked my wrist loose and threw myself away from him, almost falling off the bed on the other side hadn't it been for Jackson chasing after me and slamming his hands down on each side of my hips. The glint in his eyes made my chest clench. He leaned closer, making me whimper and bend my head away.

"Relax, Leese…" He sniffed at the hollow of my throat, sending shivers across my chest. Then he raised his head and met my gaze. "I didn't come for that."

_What?_ My mouth turned dry. _What then?_

::_  
_


	9. You Knocked Me Out

Hey. I know I was cruel. I hope I can live up to the expectations I raised with the last chapter... Hugs, Nic.

(And** THANKS** for the reviews, and to everybody who reads. It's wonderful, even though this fandom is oldish now, we are stilll quite a few who loves it. :) )

::

**Chapter 9. You Knocked Me Out I Can Never Be The Same, I Pushed You Over But Here We Still Remain **_(Linda Perry)_

I couldn't move. I was petrified… or hypnotized… My limbs felt numb and my heart beat heavily. His closeness made my stomach tighten and my breath hitch in my pained throat.

"Before…" He whispered. "We were so rudely interrupted…" He inched closer, still pinning me to the bed. "By the guys with the tools…"

I pushed at his chest, panic rising. Before I even opened my mouth, he interrupted me. "Dad." He didn't need to say more.

I exhaled so heavily and so shakily that it made him smile, the sight sending a swarm of butterflies through my chest.

Then I pulled myself together. I did _not _respond to that dark gaze. "You disappoint me Jackson," I snarled, more viciously than I had intended. "I wouldn't have figured you as just a little lovesick _boy_. And to think that all this time I thought you were such a slick professional assassin."

He sat back a little, looking stunned. Then he smirked. "I can be that way too, Leese. That what you prefer?" His hand struck out and gripped my chin, squeezing it until I winced and yanked free.

Lifting his hand higher, he stroked some strands of hair away from my face. His touch made me recoil. "You're so afraid of me, Leese… I wish…" I heard the yearning in his voice and it made my heart skip a beat in response. He let his hand slide along my cheek and down to my throat, then cradling the back of my neck, his palm warm and dry. I winced when he touched the bruises.

"Ow…" I whispered.

"Why aren't you fighting back this time?" He suddenly asked. I felt his thumb, carefully caressing my right collarbone. The touch left me breathless.

"You're threatening to kill my father if I move…" I whispered tersely, feeling like a too wound-up piano string that would snap any moment.

He snorted. "Touché."

"I don't know," I continued. I slowly took his hand in mine and lifted it off my skin before I let it go. It hovered in the empty air above my chest before he put it down on the pillow next to my head. "I think I knew you'd come… on some level. What I don't know is why you didn't come sooner. Why you didn't follow me at the airport." _Did you intend to kill my father? Was it you in that car? _

He turned around and slung his legs up on the bed, falling down on his side next to me on the pillow, supporting his head in his palm. I tightened the sheet around me, feeling stupid as I did. As if a sheet could come between this man and me, had he decided to hurt me.

So here I was, lying next to Jackson Rippner, in my old girl's room in my father's house. The thought was unthinkable. Maybe none of this was happening? Maybe it _was_ all a dream? I imagined leaning into him and let whatever happened happen, of going back to the proximity we'd shared in the elevator. I wanted it, and I also wanted to run, and scream. I didn't want to know what came next.

He fluffed up the pillow under his head, making himself comfortable. "I'm not stupid, Lisa. I know when to fight and when it's pointless. The damage had already been done. It'd have done nothing good to chase you down in a public place again. Most likely, it'd have been just really stupid."

"I saved them," I said.

"I know you did," he answered, more calmly than I'd have expected.

"I thought you'd be angrier," I said and looked down on his chest, shying away from his gaze.

"It was just one let-down." He shrugged.

I stiffened and stared at him. "What do you mean?" I couldn't breathe again. It was as if my whole existence depended on his answer.

"What the hell do you think I mean? Did you think that you saved Keefe like a heroine and that would be it? Local paper writes a story, you get a medal and your fifteen minutes of fame, Keefe thanks you in public on behalf of his family and everybody is happy?" He snorted. "Get real, Lisa. Life isn't a fairly tale. It doesn't have a happy ending." He leaned closer and whispered in my ear. "It's not like in the movies. I still have a job to finish."

I lay completely still, like frozen, next to him. His words hurt more than it would have if he had been beating me. "What are you going to do?" I said in a voice weaker than I'd have liked it to be.

He turned his head and looked at me. My gaze flickered between his piercing stare and a point at the wall behind him. He didn't speak again until I finally looked straight at him.

"Kill Keefe."

"Oh, God," I whispered and sat up straight. I had to get away from him. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't handle his earnest evilness right here in my room. When I slung my legs over the edge of the bed, I felt one arm around my waist and the other around my throat, forcing me to bend my head back. Then he yanked me hard and I was helpless as I fell against him and ended up more or less in his lap.

"Get off me," I hissed and twitched and jerked to try to make him lose his grip. "You're hurting me."

"Where do you think you're going?" he whispered. I heard the tension in his voice. And he didn't budge. He squeezed harder at my throat, making me bend further back to ease the pressure, the pain making me gulp, involuntary tears spilling on my cheeks.

"It hurts," I whispered. "Let me go or-"

"Or what, Leese?" He yanked me tighter into his embrace. I felt every breath he took, every little shift of the muscles in his body as he struggled to keep me in place. "You'll scream? Run to dad? I got the impressing you cared more about him than that."

My breathing grew ragged as I stilled in his lap. "How can you… be so… evil?" The words came in gasps.

"It's not evil, Leese. You know evil. Evil would be if I ripped off your clothes and forced you to fuck with me in your father's house, with him sleeping a couple of rooms away, knowing I'd kill him if you fought me or made even the slightest sound."

I swallowed hard, his presence suddenly more threatening than ever before._ You… you wouldn't…_ The thought sent a shockwave through my body. I was so tensed that it felt like I would break. I glanced up and met his cold gaze. He smirked back at me.

"Now, that would be 'evil'… wouldn't it?"

_Yes… it would…_ I swallowed hard. "Please let me go," I whispered, wincing in his grip.

He yanked at me again, adjusting my position in his lap. "I don't think so. I got such a good hold on you, don't I? Besides, I think it's kinda cozy. Don't you?" A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"_No_, I don't!" I snarled, squirming in his hold.

"Keep your voice down!" he hissed.

I was going to scream soon, in spite of his threats. I just couldn't stay this close to him anymore; he was a murdering bastard and his closeness made me too dizzy.

"Do whatever it is you want to do, _Jack_," I said through clenched teeth, trying desperately to stay in control. At least over myself. "Kill me or kiss me, or whatever the fuck it is you want!" I looked up at him. "And then you have to promise to leave."

He kept my gaze locked with his as he lowered his head. "Then don't fight me," he whispered hoarsely. He bit his lower lip as he regarded me. "We didn't really get to finish _our_ business."

"We don't have any," I retorted quickly.

His deadpan look made my stomach lurch. Then he leaned closer until his eyes were a blur, his face taking up my entire world. "Really?" he asked slowly.

And then he kissed me.

His kiss was demanding. Capturing my lips and teasing my mouth open. He forced an unwanted, and shockingly strong, response out of my breathless body. The world turned, it would never, ever be the same. I moaned into his mouth as he shifted on the bed and pushed me down onto the mattress, never breaking the kiss.

My heart pounded so hard I thought my chest was going to explode.

_No._

_Yes._

It was beautiful. How could something as ugly as a forced kiss from a murderer feel so exquisite? It should feel wrong and still everything felt right. Familiar. His taste, his scent, the feeling of his body pressed against mine. Every breath I took reverberated through his chest and was sent back into me with a tremor. My skin tingled and vibrated with life where he touched it, a fire spreading through my body, pooling in my lower belly, between my legs.

_Oh, God. No._

I clenched my hands into fists. They wanted to grab hold of him and push him away at the same time. The contradictory emotions made me push at his shoulders, first weakly, but then with increasing force until I felt him smile against my lips and still against me.

He broke the kiss and shifted. Grasping my wrists in his hands, he slammed my arms to the bed. I panted and glared at him.

His eyes looked warm and his lips as swollen as mine felt. "Don't look at me like that," he rasped huskily. "You gave me permission."

"You forced it," I hitched.

He leaned closer until he was almost touching my mouth with his. My traitorous body wanted to respond and I bit my lips to prevent them from meeting with his. Then he leaned over to my left ear and whispered. "Don't pretend you didn't like it."

I recoiled from the warm stream of air on my cheek. _I didn't!_ "Please, leave. You got what you came for and now you have humiliated me completely in my father's house. Please leave."

"What makes you think I got what I came for?" He sat back a little but didn't let go of my wrists.

His words hit me like a stab. _Please, don't…don't make me… _I was afraid that he was going to force more than a kiss out of me, and I was petrified at the thought of how good his lips had felt against mine. If he continued… how would I be able to stop it?

"Jackson!" I hissed.

He finally let go of my wrists and grinned. Then he patted me on my left cheek as he got up off the bed. "Go back to sleep; Leese…" He straightened and looked me over. "Or go take a cold shower…" he said with a wink.

_I don't need…_

When he actually turned around and quietly left the room without looking back, I let out a shaky sigh of relief and darted out of bed. My legs barely carried my weight. Breathlessly, I listened to try to hear where he had gone. Then I realized that I had no idea if he had hurt my father. I carefully opened the door and peered out the corridor. There was no trace of Jackson and I tiptoed through the dark hallway, stopping outside dad's room.

The knob squeaked a little as I turned it. A prickle in my neck made me turn quickly to overlook the corridor again, but I was alone. Holding my breath, I silently entered my father's bedroom.

In spite of my agitated state, I had to smile. He snored peacefully, mumbled something I couldn't hear, and shifted from his back to his side as I watched. I backed out of the room and closed the door behind me.

Paranoia made me glance over my shoulder again, but I was alone.

::

The rest of the night I barely got any sleep at all. I tossed and turned in bed, entangled myself in my sheets and had to get up and smooth them, only to start the downwards spiral again. Not until everything had gotten peaceful around me did I realize how flustered I was, how my cheeks burned, how hard my heart beat, and how erratic my breathing was.

At occasions I must have fallen briefly asleep, because I bolted upwards with a start several times, feeling his lips on mine, his breath on my ear, his body pressed into mine, and the agony over his threats.

I was going to have to use the card one of the FBI agents had given me. I'd make the call tomorrow, first thing in the morning. I had to tell them everything I knew. I wanted nothing more than to keep quiet about the extent of his nightly visit, and I would if I could.

But I had to tell them about the still very real threat to Charles Keefe.

Why did the only man that had made me feel so… _alive_… have to be so bad? Not just 'bad'… but really, truly cruel. A top priority on FBI's list… _And an incredibly good kisser…_ My insides clenched again at the thought of him. I inhaled sharply and jumped out of bed. Rushing for the window, I fumbled it open and inhaled the chilled night air.

In my thin pajama, I soon developed goosebumps, but I didn't care. The discomfort was a good distraction from the turmoil inside. The street was abandoned. In a house across the street a lonely light shone from a window. Perhaps another poor insomniac? I leaned on my elbows and closed my eyes. Tasting my lips, I could still feel his kiss, his taste, and his scent that lingered on my skin.

Finally, I closed the window and went downstairs. Huddling in a blanket on Dad's couch, I glared at the glimmering Christmas decoration in the window. Christmas day was one day away, and I realized it didn't have the same meaning to me at all anymore.

There would be no peace this year and no happy laughs.

I would instead sit in a cold, grey federal office, trying to help them to stop the man I-

_The man- _

_Nothing! _

He was nothing to me. I had to stop him from killing Keefe. I clenched my fists and closed my eyes, trying to stop the onslaught of memories.

_I'll do everything in my power to stop you._ I didn't know why that thought didn't feel as right as it ought to._  
_

_::  
_

"Are you already up, Leese?" My father's worried voice penetrated through the deep mist of unconsciousness I had finally slipped into.

I twitched awake, and at first I had no idea where I was. Then it all came back to me and I wrapped the blanket more tightly around me.

"Dad… I've been thinking." _He was here last night! _I wanted to scream it out. "I need to call the FBI-agent. There's more I need to tell them." _'Kill Keefe.' Oh, God. _

"Can't it wait, honey? I'm making us some breakfast, and I really do think you should try to take a day off from all this. They can't continue to squeeze more out of you every day. It's Christmas after all."

My stomach revolted at the thought of food. "Thanks, Dad." I smiled. "I could really use some breakfast."

::

An hour later I sat next to my dad in his car with a heavy lump in my stomach. I had eaten and showered, but I didn't feel renewed at all. I frowned and stared out the window. The burden of what I knew was too heavy for me to carry alone; to be the only one who knew with certainty that Keefe's life was still in a very real danger, gnawed at me.

My mind occasionally touched the kiss, and the fact that it had done unmentionable things to my body, then my thoughts quickly darted in a different direction. Any different direction.

'_What makes you think I got what I came for?'_

I shivered slightly and pulled my dad's jacket tighter. We approached my apartment where I was finally going to change into some clean clothes that actually fit me. Clothes that weren't torn and that had never been touched…

…_by him…_

My home felt empty. It lacked the warmth I needed. I hadn't had time to decorate it for Christmas and I had changed so much since I last set foot in there.

Suddenly, I was more vulnerable than I had ever been.

Suddenly, I had feelings.

I didn't like it.

It hurt. _'When you let someone close, you get hurt.' _Was that how he had said it?

Hurriedly, I changed into a pair of dark gray pants and a simple white blouse. I tied my hair into a ponytail and threw some paper handkerchiefs and a lip balm into a handbag. I had no purse, and no phone, and I didn't know where they were. Dad had called Fresh Air, and they had said they'd call as soon as my bag was found. I guessed it was somewhere among all the lost items at an airport and that nobody probably worked with that during the holidays.

With heavy limbs I closed and locked the door behind me; a feeling of doom hanging over me; an insane feeling of betrayal.

::

We pulled up in front of the federal building where Special agent Dan Johnson was going to meet me. I stepped halfway out of the car when I felt a hand on my arm. "Are you gonna be okay, Lisa?"

I bent into the car and smiled at him, trying not to twist it into a grin. "I'll be fine, Dad."

"Are you sure, honey?"

I sighed and frowned. "Dad…I…"

"Lisa," he interrupted. "It's not to be an annoying father. I love you so much, as does your mother, and I… I know something has happened to you, but I don't know what. I don't know if it's work, or a man… but we've seen you suffer too much during the last few years. It hasn't hurt only you…" He looked down on his lap. "And now _this_ bastard on top of that!"

I gaped. Had I been that obvious? Why on earth hadn't I told them what had happened? _They love me._ I smiled again, more genuinely this time. "Dad… I love you too."

He nodded and squeezed my arm before letting it go. "I know, sweets. I'll be back here in half an hour."

"It might take longer than that, you know."

"I know. I'll wait." He smiled warmly.

I closed the car door and watched him drive away. Glancing around me, I then climbed the grey stairs that led up to the office.

::

For the first time since - I had to count - almost forty-eight hours, or four whole days if you counted since before my grandmother's funeral, I was finally alone. I trembled as I closed the door to my apartment behind me. The day had been exhausting, to say the least.

Agent Johnson was a cardboard copy federal agent. How do they find them? Are they all cut from the same stem? He had been nice initially, but then he had pushed me, pushed me hard. I had to admit he was good at his job… and I guess that's a good thing. I was sure Keefe was in the best hands and that my warning had gotten through to the right people.

He had, however, finally forced it out of me. That Jackson had appeared in my bedroom. That he was still going to kill Keefe. I had begged him to leave my father out of it; I didn't want him to worry. The agent hadn't done anything of what I asked of him, though. He'd picked up the phone and called my dad, letting him know that we might still be in danger. I realized that, when putting it that way, I had been stupid to try to hide it.

But I'd gotten a bag out of it. They'd found my bag with everything in it. It was all returned to me in separate plastic bags and with traces of white powder on every surface. I'd fingered my mobile and turned it on. No messages. That was highly unlikely; I used to get innumerable calls every day. When I had frowned and held it up between us, he'd shrugged and said that he was sure I understood that they'd had to examine the content of bag, mobile, wallet. All of it. Yeah, I understood. But I couldn't help getting the same feeling that Jackson had given me when I had learnt that he'd been following me. I put everything back inside my bag, rubbing intensely at my possessions, making sure that I wiped off the dust, any traces of it. I was ready to leave this place. I had to put some distance between me and all these people who invaded my life. I wanted my home; needed to close the doors behind me and just empty my mind from all that had happened.

When I'd come back out I'd told Dad everything about how Jackson had threatened me during the nightly visit, but none of the rest. _No one_ needed to know about that. That was between me and my scattered conscience.

::

I grimaced and dropped the bag on a chair. I had developed a damn good lying technique the last two years. I had been _living_ a lie, never letting anyone in, keeping up a cheerful façade, never letting anyone know how sick I really was.

Kicking off my shoes, one of them hit the wall with more force than intended. My head hurt and I was exhausted from playing pretend. I dropped my clothes, one by one, along the way to the bedroom. I should have showered, would have needed to wash off the day, but I was spent. It was sloppy, I know. It wasn't like me. I didn't care.

I pulled on a small top and my pajama shorts that lay tucked under the pillow, curled up under my cold blanket and wrapped it tightly around my body.

With a deep feeling of being wrong; of having done something wrong; or being in the wrong place, the day finally got the better of me, and I drifted to sleep.

I felt lonelier than ever.


	10. Consumed In All Our Doom

Ohoy. It's finally that time again. I'm filled with gratefulness for all the reviews. This story has been a blast to write and it's my favorite, totally, to write and even to read... I hope that doesn't sound like it sounds... :) There's not a lot left now and soon you old readers will finally see what's dramatically changed since the first version. The 'gift' I'm mentioning in the summary.

::

**Chapter 10. Consumed In All Our Doom We're The Song That's Out Of Tune, Still Beautiful No Matter What They Say **_(Interpreted Linda Perry) _

"This is getting old," I mumbled.

I was only half awake. I hadn't even opened my eyes yet, and still I felt his presence. On my bed. Maybe I had sensed the gentle shift of air in the room when he'd entered, or the slight sinking of the mattress when he sat down on it? I don't know.

"What? No yelling, no whining, no flailing and running? And I was _so_ looking forward to that, Leese." The low voice came out of the shadows, soft and almost tender.

I still didn't open my eyes. My world was perfect as it was; I didn't need to ruin a good sleep by watching the face of my nemesis again and start the nightmarishly roller coaster of hurting emotions again. I shrugged - which he probably couldn't see, and turned to the side, away from him - which he probably did see. "Go away. Shush. I _really_ don't care if I disappoint you," I muttered and wished he'd just go and leave me alone.

Then it struck me. _Oh, God! It isn't a dream!_

I sat straight up and stared at him; my heart in my throat and my eyes wide open.

Even in the dusky room, I saw the smirk. "I wondered when you'd wake."

I scrambled away from him so fast that I fell off the bed on the other side, yelping as sore limbs hit the floor. This time he didn't follow. I didn't have anywhere to go anyway; to get to the door I'd have to go through him.

"Wh- why are you here?" I stuttered as I got to my feet, fumbling behind me until I found the switch to the small lamp by my bed. A soft yellowish light spread over my pillow and I exhaled when I could see him better.

He squinted as he let his eyes roam the length of my body. Suddenly, I felt very naked with my pajama shorts and sleeveless top, and gripped the sheet, yanking it off the bed to cover me. His eyes, they were still so blue, but they had a dark edge to them that made my stomach knot and nausea rise within.

"What have you done? Why are you here? What have you _done_?" I bellowed, fear gripping my heart and twisting it so tightly that I could barely breathe.

He regarded me for a moment while he chewed on his lip, waited a beat too long before answering. "Don't worry, Leese. Dad's safe," he then said, coolly.

_Thank God! _My eyes darted between him and the door; maybe I could… if I was fast?

I didn't think. All I know was that it scared me more than ever before to be alone in a room with Jackson. Something had changed between us. Something I couldn't fathom. I didn't know why he had come, and I didn't care.

Actually, I was _sure_ I didn't want to know why he was here.

'_What makes you think I got what I came for?'_

I bolted, but couldn't get even near the door before Jackson was on me. He became a blur as he slammed into me and twisted us around so that we fell on the bed. He straddled my hips and held my squirming body down on the mattress, his strong hands gripping my sore wrists.

"Take it easy, calm _down_, I'm not here to fuckin' _rape_ you," he panted, fighting to get control over me, control I refused to give him.

"Then get the hell out of my bedroom!" I yelled, bucking my hips to try to throw him off me. "You're scaring me! And can't you at least use the doorbell like a decent person? And what _are_ you here for anyway? Get _off_ me," I cried. Finally, I stilled, exhausted. My chest heaved with each breath and my head spun from his closeness and from the musky, male scent he exuded, the scent that felt like coming home.

He leaned closer, seemingly unaffected by my outbreak. _Oh, God._ I knew that look so well… he was up to something. I couldn't tear my eyes off of his as he spoke.

"You still have my jacket," he said, a hint of a smile grazing his lips. "It's a good jacket. I want it back."

"The police have it," I whispered. "It's evidence…"

Jackson smiled and leaned closer, the stubble on his cheek rasped pleasantly against my own as he put his lips to my ear. "Of course it is. I'm not really here for the jacket, Lisa."

Goosebumps erupted all over my skin and my mind reeled. I knew what came next.

"I'm here to make love to you," he stated in a voice so low I had to stop my panting to hear what he said.

My breath hitched and my stomach lurched. "Right." My voice trembled. I swallowed hard and inhaled shakily as I tried to compose myself. "Like _you_ would even know the _meaning_ of that," I countered viciously, swallowing again and again to get rid of the panicky lump in my throat.

He sat back a little. "Do _you _then?" he asked.

"Do I what?" I snarled and tried to yank my wrists out of his grip.

"Do _you_ know the meaning of making love?"

It rendered me speechless. I gaped as I stared at him, his closeness making my heart jump in a, most likely, unhealthy manner. _Of course I do. Did…Used to know…_ "It's nothing I care to share with _you_," I finally managed to rasp. "it's… it's just none of your business!"

"You're hurting my feelings, Leese. I thought we'd come further than that in our… twisted little relationship."

I stared at him. "What are you _talking_ about? We don't _have_ any relationship. Any-"

He leaned so close that his face was a blur and I swallowed compulsively. "Then why does a good girl like you so desperately want to screw a bad boy like me?"

I squirmed in his hold, struggling to find something, anything to say in response. "I don't!" I sputtered. "And if you force me, it's rape!"

He leaned closer until his lips touched mine. I was paralyzed with fascination over what was about to happen and couldn't turn my head away, instead I bent my neck and turned my face up to meet his. His mouth moved against mine as he spoke. "Call it whatever you want," he said, huskily, his breath sweet and so very… him. "But I doubt there'll be much force involved… unless it turns you on."

I gasped at the latter statement. Of _course_ it didn't turn me on. And then a flash of him pressing against me in the elevator rippled through my mind. It sent a swarm of tingling butterflies through my belly, evoking a heavy feeling between my legs. I pressed my thighs together and squirmed underneath his weight.

I would have wanted to protest. To the treatment, and to the claim that anything he did turned me on, but when he pressed his lips firmer against mine and caught my lower lip between his, every rational thought I'd ever harbored shattered and left me. My lips responded to his touch and I had nothing to do with that. It wasn't a conscious choice. It wasn't_ sane_.

I had forced myself to forget how good his kiss felt, but when his tongue touched mine, I was unable to hold back a moan, every tactile memory of him imprinting themselves all over again. I arched into him and felt him smile. A brief anger welled up inside me at his triumph over my will, but it was just as quickly quelled when he slid his arms under my back and pressed me hard up against his chest, our bodies molding against each other.

When he finally let my mouth go, he looked into my eyes with a glittering smile as he licked his lips.

"So… Lisa Reisert…" He bit his lower lip. "How do you want it? Soft and sweet?" He leaned closer, putting his mouth to my ear. "Or rough and forceful?"

My stomach clenched into a hard knot of panic at his last words, but at the same time I felt an insane furnace start inside me. It was like every nerve ending was electrical; waiting for him to take control of the vibrant life within that he had awakened.

"Neither," I managed to rasp, biting my lips hard together. "I want you to leave." _Don'tleavedon'tleavedon'tleave!_

At that he laughed. "Right," he said. "Rough it is, then."

I whimpered pathetically when he bit and licked a path down my throat. As he ripped my top in two and yanked it off me. He stopped right after he had dropped it to the floor, when my arms flew up to cover my chest.

"Lisa," he whispered softly and caressed a trail with his finger from my cheek down my throat, across my collar bone, stopping just when his hand met mine, right where the swell of my breast began. I arched to touch the electricity between the closeness of his hand and the heat radiating from my body. "You can pretend to the rest of the world, and to yourself, forever from tomorrow morning that you didn't like it and that you weren't in on it… But you don't have to play pretend tonight, with me. I know what you want… I know you want me." He leaned forward and planted the softest of kisses on my exposed skin where our hands met. "I know you need me." The sound of his voice rumbled in his chest and I felt his words vibrate through me rather than hear them.

He carefully pushed my hand downwards, away from my breast, then he lowered his head, licking a path down to my nipple, circling it, which betraying enough grew even harder from the treatment. He glanced coyly back up at me. "And I don't blame you… I'm a sexy bastard," he added with a grin that made my breath hitch. I should have gotten angry with him for being such a cocky asshole… but he was so terribly right. I did want him. I'd been attracted to him from the first moment when it had felt as if he had seen right through me, as if he had understood me. And I had been right, I just hadn't known why at the time.

Burying his face in my hair, he then whispered: "I know _I_ need _you_." Rising on his arms, towering over me, he clasped my wrists in one hand and slowly pushed my arms down on the mattress above my head.

"Close your eyes," he said. "And trust me."

"Jackson," I croaked, unwilling to let myself go just yet. "I'm afraid."

He caressed my cheek with his free hand. "What are you afraid of, Lisa?" he whispered. I trembled, and I'm sure he felt it too, because he let go of my wrists and pulled me up, towards him, cradling me to his chest. "What are you afraid of, Leese? You know I'm not here to hurt you."

"I… I know. But you… you… I can't figure you out," I mumbled to his collarbone.

"Why do you even have to try? Is it important?" His fingers curled and stroked my hair at the back of my neck, sending shivers rippling through my chest.

Maybe it wasn't? Maybe I was just stalling the inevitable? What I knew had to happen. I leaned my cheek against his shoulder, allowing myself to rest in his warmth, in his scent, his unyielding frame giving me a sense of safety in spite of all that he'd done - to me and to others - because he felt like someone who could save me.

"You hurt me… how can I be sure-"

His hand slid down from my neck to the side of my breast, caressing the softness, his palm barely touching my nipple, making it ache for more.

"I won't hurt you, sweetheart. We've been through too much shit together. You were great in there, in that fucking elevator. I thought… we both thought…" He shook his head and spread his hands defensively in front of me. "I'm- I won't ever hurt you again."

His fingers touched my bruised neck with feather light strokes and I arched closer to his hand. "And I don't lie, Lisa. Ever."

"That's very unusual," I said.

The wide grin that lightened his face made my heart lurch. "I'm very unusual."

When he bent closer to catch my mouth with his, I whispered, "I'm afraid of you as a man."

"I know you are. I'll take good care of you." He kissed me, his soft lips catching mine, his tongue touching the tip of mine which hesitantly met with his. Then he slowly lowered me onto the bed and followed suit, his chest to mine, lips to lips.

My arms wanted to hold on to something, to him, and I raised them until my palms rested on his shoulders before they slid all the way around to his back, downwards to where his shirt met his pants and to where I felt his warm smooth skin. He exhaled against my mouth.

Abruptly, he let go of my lips and yanked his shirt over his head. "You're really not ready for rough this time around. I was just playing you. We're just-" He started to pull off my shorts with his free hand and I stiffened. "-gonna make love. I can be-" His hand followed my naked thigh back up, cradling my hip and then my buttocks as he heaved himself up on top of me. "-tender."

"Where's the 'male-driven logic' in that?" I asked, drowsily, relaxing into him, almost hypnotized by his breaths against mine, his hand that caressed every patch of my skin it could reach, and his soothing voice in my ear.

I heard him chuckle. "You don't forget anything, do you?

"Not complete humiliations, no." His warm hands on my hips, circling my thighs, nipping, pinching, gripping, and caressing, made me cling to him like a drowning woman to a life boat. "You've changed," I groaned into his shoulder.

His head rose until his eyes were level with mine. Then he smiled. Beautifully. "Must've spent too much time in your company… your 'female-driven emotions' must be contagious."

I couldn't help but smile. "Those were long hours… in the elevator," I rasped.

He leaned closer to my ear. "But they were spent in the best of company."

I snorted quietly. Ironic as it was, it still held some truth.

"Are you still closing your eyes?" he asked.

I nodded and closed them quickly.

Goosebumps erupted along my back as he ground his hips against me and I felt the obvious proof of his arousal.

"Good," he whispered sensuously.

I exhaled sharply and squirmed under him. I think he knew that it wasn't fear this time.

::

I felt worshipped.

I had known love. Before. This wasn't love.

I thought I had known passion.

I had been wrong.

He _was_ tender, but still he held me down. He wanted me passive. He had let go of my wrists, but as soon as I tried to answer to any of his actions he pushed me back down on the bed.

He made me ready for him. With warm hands, deft fingers, with teeth, lips, and tongue, he made me cry with want and need.

When he stopped and removed the hand that was holding me down, I didn't dare to move. And I missed the heat from his touch.

"Open your eyes," he demanded, his voice so husky, so tainted with passion, that it sent shivers through me.

Slowly, I opened them, just a narrow crack, glancing at him. There was something vaguely demon-like over him, the way the light came from below, casting shadows in his face and making his cheekbones even more sharp, and the way his blue eyes flamed under his tousled hair.

"You're crying, Leese!" He suddenly sounded concerned.

I smiled. "I'm not sad."

Holding my gaze, he returned the smile as he raised his hand and wiped some of the wetness off my cheeks with his thumb. He stroked my hair and gave me a mischievous gaze. "I want you to look at me."

My breathing came in short gasps and I felt my whole being stretch towards him, but I stayed passive and opened my eyes completely.

I stared transfixed as he sat up, straddling my hips, unfastened his belt and removed it before placing it carefully next to me on the bed. Then he zipped down and pulled off his pants, one leg at a time, dropping the garment next to the bed. His boxers went the same way.

Slowly, I lowered my gaze before I met his eyes, bright and beautiful. This was really happening. Right now, right here.

And I wanted it.

Then, he lowered himself onto me again and kept his word.

::

We made love the whole night.

Passionate, tender, violent, frighteningly beautiful love.

It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before.

He devoured me, claimed me, with an enthralling intensity that left me breathless and gasping for more. Clasping my hands hard in his, he slowly explored every ridge and crevice nature had given me, from my fingertips to my ears, from my lips to my sex, from the back of my neck to my toes. Feather light kisses covered every bruise on my body; throat, arms, knees, back, hips, kissing away the pain and the memories of how they got there. He teased me until I was ready to give him anything he wanted if he'd just let me have my release.

He treated me like a Goddess.

He made me feel like I deserved it.

And _that_ was the greatest achievement of them all.

::

He did like to be in control. And it aroused me more than I'd ever imagined. I could seek counseling and think about what it meant. Another day.

That night, though, he freed us both from the damned burning itch that had started a couple of days ago in a check-in line, in a Tex-Mex bar, the itch that had grown by the fighting, the banter, and the closeness during the long, cold night in the elevator.

That night just had to happen, and for once I just went along.

There could be so many explanations. Maybe it was sleep deprivation bordering a hallucinatory state, or a never-ending need for confirmation in a damaged soul? Perhaps it was the closeness that had been forced upon us in the elevator, making me feel like I'd known him forever, like I knew him better than I'd known anyone else? Or maybe a classic case of Stockholm syndrome?

I didn't care.

Sometimes two people just match.

And we did.

He made me forget. He made me whole, at least for a while. By taking control, he gave me control.

I'll never know how he did that, but I'll be forever grateful.

When the grey light of the dawn made the curtains cast shadows on the opposite wall, I lay sated on his arm, curled up in his warmth, inhaling his scent, memorizing it. We had pulled the sheet and blanket over us, covering our bodies from the cool air in my bedroom.

He kissed me on my head, making me all warm and fuzzy. "Merry Christmas, Lisa."

_Oh, Jesus. It's Christmas Day. I have to… Dad… and gifts… and…_

"Merry Christmas, Jackson," I whispered. The surrealism of what we'd just done was slowly starting to seep in between us, an invisible wall threatening to spread its chill and estrange us from each other. I didn't want to let reality in just yet, but once it had planted its seed, it refused to stay away.

_You just spent the night with Jackson Rippner…_

The meaning of it was impossible to grasp. I had pushed away a lot of important issues since his arrival late last night. What had he done before he came here yesterday? Where was he going? Did he know that I had warned Keefe again?

"What happens now?" I asked.

"What's there to happen?" Jackson purred hoarsely, a sound that made my heart skip a beat.

I felt a tug of insecurity. "I don't know…" I half-shrugged. "With us?" It wasn't what I had really meant to say, but it was the first thing that came to my mind.

"Why would anything happen with us? What do you mean? Are we dealing with emotions again?" He didn't sound particularly mean or sarcastic, just calm, his voice a little raspy from the long night of lovemaking and the total lack of sleep.

It hurt. Somewhere deep down something inside me broke. But I knew he was right. We'd both felt an insane attraction in spite of the circumstances… or perhaps, insanely enough, partly because of them. And he had been daring enough to do something about it. We should never even have had this night.

That was it. That was the reality of it.

I knew it.

It still hurt.

Then I forgot about it as he pulled me to him one last time, his caresses demanding, his hand on my throat, his teeth leaving marks on my hip, leaving me no room for protests.

No room for thoughts.

::

We had both finished dressing and stood in the hallway when the rattling sound of a key in my front door, pierced the silence. I gaped and stared at Jackson who looked just as surprised for one moment before the door swung open.

_Dad!_

My father looked at me and then at the man next to me. He stood like frozen.

"Lisa, I… I tried calling y… You didn't answer the phone and I…" I saw his eyes dart between me and Jackson and then his eyes widened as his hand slid inside one of his pockets. I whirled around in time to see Jackson produce a large knife out of his coat. My legs turned weak, and I twisted back to look at Dad.

"No-" I croaked, my hands darting up between us in a defensive gesture.

Stepping behind me, but still not touching me, Jackson said in a dangerously low voice, "Remove your hand from that gun, old man, and I'll leave your daughter unharmed.

My father's lips had turned white as he regarded Jackson warily. "What have you done to my girl?"

I wanted to sink through the floor. If they were going to start throwing insults at each other with me in the line of fire, then I'd just provided Jackson with material for a marathon long drabble.

"Dad!" I intervened. "He's- he's just leaving…"

He gave me a short glance, but didn't seem to hear me. His hand clenched around the gun that he had risen slightly. I could see a bit of blue-grey cold steel sticking out of his pocket. _This is not happening!_ My heart pounded insanely hard and I heard a constant roar in my ears. I had never seen my father with a gun. I didn't even know he owned one.

"What have you done to Lisa?" he asked again and raised the gun.

I felt Jackson move behind me and was about to whirl around, but it was too late. The sharp edge lay threateningly cool against the skin on my throat, and his achingly familiar body was now pressed against my back.

"Don't," I whispered, and eyed my father and the gun as I gripped Jackson's forearm with my both hands, trying to ease the pressure of the knife. My heart dropped when I saw the despair in my dad's eyes and how his arms trembled. He was so afraid that I doubted he was reachable with any arguments.

"Drop the gun and Lisa'll be fine," Jackson barked harshly. His voice made the hair at the back of my neck stand straight up. He wasn't the lover any more but had slipped back into being the assassin, the terrorist, the 'manager'. It had changed within a matter of seconds.

I shuddered, suddenly nauseous. How could I have experienced such a beautiful night with this man? How could he be both so gentle and so cruel? How could he have such different sides? Then I realized that he hadn't been making any active threats to kill me. _Part from the knife at your throat!_ He really just wanted to get out.

Alive.

_We can work this out! This is just a misunderstanding._

In spite of his grip on me, I took the chance and turned to face him. He eased the knife so as not to cut me. I was just about to speak when I saw my dad like a blur to my left. _Oh, God!_ I had given him a window of opportunity, and that was undoubtedly how he interpreted it.

A shot rang out, but I felt the dull hit in my chest first as I threw myself at my father, trying to stop him. Someone screamed and I saw blood. Jackson fell-

_No!_

-and got to his feet again, a growing bloodstain tainting the arm on his coat.

_No. I…_

Then my knees buckled and I dropped where I stood. I watched my dad being tossed to the side like a glove. A pale face stared for a moment down on mine. Piercing blue eyes, an expression in them I'd never forget, begging for forgiveness.

Then he was gone.

::

I barely felt anything. I was on the verge of unconsciousness when the ambulance drove off, a mask over my face, needles piercing my skin.

In the ER I heard them speak as they frantically worked around my body. Maybe they didn't know I was still awake at some level.

"_She's the lady that prevented that Keefe murder on that hotel the other day."_

"_Too bad he died."_

"_But I thought she saved him?"_

"_Nah, it was on the late news yesterday… he was murdered."_

He was gone.

I knew my life had been irrevocably changed.

I wish I had died.


	11. They Lie Who Say That Death Is Worse

Okay. This is a shorty. But it's a stand-alone and needs to be this way. For those of you who are new to this story I'll tell you that this was originally the last chapter, clearly deeply frustrating to many who read it. Myself, I was satisfied with the open ending, but then it started to creep up on me - the continuation.

::

**Chapter 11. They Lie Who Say That Death Is Worse **_(Countee Cullen) _

The flowers came regularly from friends and family. The small table next to the hospital bed was filled with pink and yellow, blue and red, tall and short, wide and narrow.

One flower in particular caught the eye. It was a tall sunflower, wide, yellow, filled with life and standing in solitude.

A pale hand opened with trembling fingers the letter that was attached to the vase.

On the envelope it said in simple, bold letters;

_LISA._

The small white square danced to the floor, and the slight rustling sound of a paper being unfolded filled the quiet hospital room.

::

_Lisa._

_Don't blame yourself for how it turned out. Blame _me_, I can take it. And basically it is my fault. All of it. _

_I wasn't sure you were going to make it after you took that hit. I wasn't sure I even wanted you to make it. With you dead, there would be no one alive who knows me as well as you do. I believe that no one knows _you _as well as I do either. _

_I am glad you survived, though. The world needs more Lisas in it. And I'm glad I'm able to thank you for taking that bullet. _

_How's Dad taking it? I bet he isn't too happy. I'm really no friend of guns. They lack precision and, as recently proven, just about anyone can wave them around. _

_You asked me what was going to happen. I remember answering something rather cocky and cruel, still your question made me wonder that myself. I wonder what's going to happen to you once you get back on your feet again. How will you go on from here? Will you continue to lie to yourself and everybody around you? Will you continue to live a love-less, self-depriving life? Will you bury yourself in work once more and forget everything you ever felt? Who you can be? Please don't. It would destroy you. _

_I want you to come with me, Lisa. I don't make any promises. And no one knows if it's going to work. _

_I have good reasons to believe that you actually hate me after everything I've done, and I won't hold it against you if you just tear this letter to pieces and burn it ceremoniously._

_If you do decide to come, though, then let the little light in your kitchen window shine at night within the first month after you're released from the hospital, and keep a bag packed. I'll come and get you. There'll be no obligations. You would never be my hostage and you would be free to leave at any time. Just to make that clear. I have no inclinations to be with someone who fears me. I get enough of those kicks at work. As you know. And you know I never lie._

_If you decide not to, just remember this: I'll disappear and you have nothing to fear from me. _

_Ever. _

_J._

::_  
_

A pale hand crushed the piece of paper with unexpected strength in a tightly clenched fist and a choked cry was heard from the bed.

The little ball flew through the room and hit the window, scaring a bird that had been resting on the outside.

Then there was silence.

A sigh. Bare feet stumbling slowly on a cold floor.

Then the paper was picked up and read again.

'_Lisa._

_I don't blame you for being angry.' _

The paper trembled in the hands of the reader.

'_no one who knows me as well as you do._

_I believe that no one knows _you _as well as I do either. '_

A muffled sob echoed through the room.

'_I want you to come with me, Lisa.'_

The paper was crumpled again and thrown with force across the room.

"Damn you, Jackson Rippner."


	12. Every Beginning Is A Consequence

**Author's Note:** I am so sorry everyone for the late update. I was on vacation (it was lovely except that our car broke down very inconveniently) then my computer started sending out weird mails to everyone who's ever been in contact with me. Even I knew then that it'd gotten a virus. So I've just shut it down for the time being. SO, risking everything I still went in, Rambo-style, and fetched what was most important: this story. To post. For you guys.

On a more serious note, on to things that really mean something (I mean RL, blech): from now on it's new stuff. What I was talking about were to come when I started reposting this a while back. AND this is the second last chapter. I hope you'll like it.

Love, Nicolina.

::

**Chapter 12.** **Every Beginning Is A Consequence, Every End Is A Beginning** _(Interpreted Paul Valery)_

"Oh my God! Miss Reisert! What are you doing up? Someone… _help!_ Come on, I've got you. You need to get back to bed now."

More voices intermingled.

"What is it Helen? Oh, shit… _WE NEED HELP HERE!_"

_The letter._

I tried to get up, but my legs just wouldn't obey me and my head spun so bad that I wasn't sure what was up and what was down anymore. Bile rose and sank in my throat and I salivated and coughed, gasping from the strain on the damaged tissue. Pressing my hand to my chest, I made an attempt to ease the pounding pain from the wound. I couldn't recall one single moment in my life when I'd felt so ill, still my thoughts clung to one thing only. _The letter._

Hands helped me up from the floor and I winced as my body was twisted in odd angles from their efforts to get me back to bed. They were chattering excitedly and the room seemed to fill with people. All I felt were rough fingers and pain and a buzz in my ears. _The letter!_

"Pa…" My tongue wasn't cooperating. "Pap…er." It came out as a croak.

"What's she saying?"

"Pape are?"

"Honey, what do you need?" They tried to push me down, presumably on the bed, but I fought to stay upright and stretched my arm towards the far corner of the room, to somewhere by the window.

"Pa…_per_." I whispered.

They looked in the direction I was pointing and the same soft voice repeated: "Paper? Did you say paper?"

I nodded.

One of the women let go of my arm and walked across the room, picking up the crumbled letter from the floor.

"Is this the one you mean?"

I nodded again.

Not until she'd given it to me and my hand had closed hard around it, did I allow myself to fall back onto the bed. They tucked me in and I closed my eyes, fighting the urge to throw up.

"Are you in pain? You're sweating."

"Pain," I rasped.

"This will make it easier on you, honey."

I soon felt the morphine start having effect, it slowly swept me away on its wings and diluted the sharpness of the ache in my chest until it was only a dull reminder of its previous high. And with the disappearance of the physical pain, even the aching in my heart eased a little. Not even managing to cuddle up in a fetal position, and just barely aware that there were still people in the room, I drifted.

'_I want you to come with me.'_

_No!_

I squeezed my eyes shut hard, choking on the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes. I couldn't allow myself to go there. I hadn't cried once since I came out of unconsciousness; hadn't cried for Keefe, for my dad, for Jackson, or for myself. The sorrow was clutched into a ball of agony inside my chest. I didn't feel like I had the right to mourn.

::

A bird chirped cheerfully, and I woke with my tongue stuck to my gum and a massive headache. My eyes hurt, and even without opening them I knew someone had pulled the curtains apart and that the sun was shining blindingly into my hospital room. I also knew that same someone was sitting right next to my bed.

I knew him well. I knew his scent. I knew his breaths; in, hold it a moment too long, out with a slight huff. I knew the sound of thin paper rustling, of pages in a news paper being turned. I managed a half-smile in his direction. Instead of speaking, I just made a very alien clicking sound.

I tried again. "Wat…er."

I felt a hand behind my neck and the cold rim of a glass to my lips. I tilted my head forward and drank greedily. I nodded when I was satisfied and the glass disappeared.

"Don't you have_ anything_ better to do, Dad?"

"Honey, I have absolutely nothing better to do than to sit by your side. I won't leave until you're strong enough to physically kick me out of here. Mom says hi by the way."

My lips twitched. I couldn't complain about his devotion.

"When're they gonna prosecute you and put you in jail so I can have some time alone?"

I heard a snort. "Very funny, Lisa."

Turning my head towards him, I opened one eye just a crack and glanced at him. "I always seem to think it is."

"You never filed charges."

I could barely hide the grin. "Why should I?"

"I'm glad you feel that way."

"You're a silly old man, but I love you, Dad."

He turned serious and mouthed: "I love you too." Still too ashamed to say it out loud.

"They told me you were up. What happened?"

"Ah, you know-" I made a vague gesture with my hands in front of my chest. "I just got bored with lying in bed all the time. I wanted to see the world outside and I wanted to just… live a little." Lying still came easily. Funny how it is, that it can be so easy to lie to the people closest to you, and yet sometimes a stranger can see right through you.

I clutched my left hand harder, crushing the little piece of paper even tighter. The only little piece of evidence I had of his existence. I could hand it to the cops, I could burn it, I could frame it and put it on the wall… or… if I clutched it like this for much longer, I could make it disintegrate under the pressure of my clammy fingers. I smiled at my father at the same time as I let go of the letter and smoothened it out on the bed next to me, covering it under the sheet.

We continued with our little morning ceremonies while my headache slowly subsided. Dad brought me tea and toast. He read the news, the main sport events, and the letters from the readers out loud to me and we commented on the awfulness of the world, the results and on how silly people could be. We kept it light, small-talking. All the while I felt that I was such a lie and by far the most insane person on the planet. Because I knew what I had done. I knew what was inside me. Who I was now. Who _he_ had found.

Dad and I hadn't talked about what Jackson had been doing in my hallway that morning. We hadn't talked about what Jackson had done in my room in Dad's house the night before that either. I hoped that he assumed that he'd been there threatening me and that it hadn't been such friendly visits as it had been. That was how I had explained it to the cops anyway. Gathering everything that had happened, and the fact that he'd had a knife at my throat the only time my father saw him, they had no reasons not to believe me.

It still hurt, thinking about it. It hurt tremendously. I'd given him everything, my body, and my soul. And he was the last person I ever wanted to see again.

I hadn't believed… that he'd really be a murderer. That, after all we'd been through, after all the revelations, the closeness, the time we'd shared… that he'd still be_ that_ man. I couldn't reconcile with that fact, I couldn't melt together in my head the images I had of him as tender and real… with a man who had murdered Keefe in cold blood. I couldn't because he imprint he'd made still refused to release its hold on me. I swallowed hard as I listened to my dad's voice, remembering Jackson's hands around my throat, how he nearly killed me. I was still bruised, the discolorations tinged greenish and yellow, paler with every passing day. The chase around the airport was only a week and a half back. _No!_ It was I who was delusional. He was dangerous; that was the only truth I needed to hold on to.

'_I want you to come with me.'_

_Get out of my head! _

I didn't want to want that, but the thought of not taking him up on his offer, of never seeing him again, felt like ripping out my heart. Didn't that make me just as bad as him? As bad as a murderer?

"You look so tired, sweetheart. I think Nurse Angela will come in here and give me her evil stare if I don't pack up and leave."

My dad's tender voice pulled me back to the hospital room. "Aw, you don't have to leave," I rasped. The truth was that I was terrified of being alone with my thoughts. They hurt. I watched him get up and start packing his things. "I'm in pain, Dad."

I lied. Today I wasn't. At least not physical. I just wanted to sleep.

His look was so filled with compassion that it almost made my chest hurt for real. "I'll tell them on my way out."

I smiled weakly. "Thanks."

::

"Will you be all right, sweetheart?" Dad set the bag down on the floor and closed the door behind him. I stared at the spot on the floor where I had fallen, where I had been when I had caught my last glimpse of Jackson. Dad caught me staring and misinterpreted my clenched jaws. "Your mother was here for days and cleaned it up after the police were through. We didn't want you to have to come home to that mess."

I looked up at him and managed a smile. "Everything? Tha- Thanks. That's… very sweet." I wondered if she had noticed the crumpled, sweaty sheets in my bedroom that must have reeked of sex. My cheeks turned hot and I bent my head, hoping he wouldn't catch me blushing and ask about it. Mom hated to clean. She had probably just grabbed them and thrown them in the garbage if I knew her correctly.

Dad shuffled his feet and looked uneasy. He was standing almost at the exact spot where he had been when he had shot me.

"I'll be fine, ehm, I'll call you later," I said, trying not to jump with impatience. I longed desperately to be left alone.

"I know you want to have some alone-time but at least let me help you unpack and get you a coffee or something." He took a couple of undetermined steps into the hallway.

"Dad. I'm fine." I said softly. I laid a hand on his arm to stop him. He knew me well enough. I _really_ needed time alone. A lot.

"Are you sure?" he asked. I sighed and his lips twitched. "Sorry," he added hastily.

I peeled off my shoes without bending down, straightened and inhaled. I wanted it to smell like home, but I hadn't set foot in my apartment for almost a month and it didn't. It smelled dusty, unused. Then I turned to my dad again. "Yes, I'm sure. I'll call you tomorrow. You can invite me over for dinner."

His eyes turned glassy and he blinked several times. "Leese," he rasped, his voice filled with emotion.

"I know."

When the door had closed behind him, I leaned my head back and stared at the white ceiling, allowing for the first time the onslaught of memories and images to fill me. _Jackson on the plane. Jackson chasing me, his hands around my neck. Jackson giving me his jacket. Jackson telling me that I was stronger than I thought. Jackson kissing me, touching me, holding a knife to my neck. My dad holding a gun, trembling. Jackson silently begging me to forgive him when I lay bleeding on the floor. Charles Keefe in the hotel lobby, smiling, handsome and powerful. Charles Keefe's lifeless body under a white blanket on the news. A lonely sunflower in a white room. _

And finally, _finally_ I allowed _weeks_ of held-back tears to flow freely. I inhaled deeply, shakily, and then I fell to my knees, wailing in pain and despair for forever before I clutched my chest and got back up, coughing when my damaged lung protested against the treatment. On trembling legs I steered my steps to the bedroom. Yeah, the sheets had been changed. A pang of disappointment took a swipe at me, but then again maybe this was for the better anyway; that I couldn't even choose to bury my nose in the white fabric, hoping to catch his scent still, hoping that some of our love-making would still remain. On a whim I went to the kitchen and looked in the garbage bin. But it was empty. With slow steps I went back to the bedroom.

I sat down on the edge of the bed and just waited, listened, breathed. Nothing had changed. Nothing inside me. Nothing on the outside. I was still the same. My heart still hurt. I still longed to see him just once more. Needed to see him, needed to hear him. I wanted him to tell me that it wasn't true, that it hadn't been he who had killed Keefe in the end. That it'd been his associate. But I knew better. Of course it had been him.

'_let the little lamp in your kitchen window shine'_

It sounded so simple. But that wouldn't be just a little signal to him to come up and chat. If he came it'd be fast. In. Bag. Out. And my life would have changed forever. Again. Was I really ready for that?

::

The days went by. Initially, I was a broken doll, weak and tired, but I grew stronger. At sleepless nights I took rounds to the kitchen, making tea, staring at the small yellow - unlit - lamp in the window, glaring at the innocent little button that would light it. It looked like a little unstable stick of dynamite. Just one flick with a finger and it would ignite an uncontrollable series of events and blow up everything I knew. I left it untouched.

A week turned into two and I paid my first visit at the Lux. I was still paler than usual and walked with measured steps because the scar tissue hurt when I stretched it and, even though I hated to admit it, I was still easily tired. Everybody came rushing to greet me. No one mentioned Keefe. My stomach was in knots the whole time and I sighed with relief when I stepped into my car and drove home.

Three weeks after my release from the hospital, I had a doctor's appointment, and on the way back I drove past the airport. It wasn't really on my way home; that was stretching it. With hesitating steps, I entered the arrivals terminal and just stood there for a long time, watching the people rushing by, thinking that every face I saw could be him. I wondered where he was right at this moment. What he was doing. Did he think about me? Was he confused too?

I doubted that. He had probably continued with whatever sickly business he was supposed to be doing, thinking nothing of it other than to finish his next job. I wondered how he could be so indifferent to the people he damaged. I wondered how damaged _he _would have to be to be doing this.

I wondered why I couldn't stop thinking about him.

I wondered how damaged_ I_ was.

"Miss, are you lost? Can I help you?"

A male voice snapped me back to reality. A security guard had approached me and was smiling kindly at me.

"Oh, no, no. I was just leaving." I flashed him a wide smile and turned my back to the lively terminal and to all the memories. I knew they'd come back tonight nevertheless. They haunted me in my hallway, in my bed, whenever I looked at myself in a mirror, and when the still-raw scar tissue over my latest wound itched.

The fourth week I was a prisoner of my own mind. The long nights found me standing with my nose pressed against the chilly window glass, staring out at the street and the park four stories down. If he would be able to see the light, then he had to be making rounds to check if I had lit it or not. Wouldn't he? I paced the kitchen, the hallway, the bedroom, the living room, and then back into the kitchen. Every other hour I changed my mind. _I'm _not _going with him. That'd be insanity. I'd leave my job, my family, my home, and for what? What could possibly replace the life I know and have built? What would be better?_ I didn't think he loved me. Love is something precious, something fragile yet strong, and something beautiful. I didn't think this man was capable of love. I couldn't think of anything within him as 'beautiful'. Powerful, yes, manipulating yes, thrilling, intense, and magnificent, yes. Just not 'beautiful'. Not sweet. Not tender. Not caring.

I didn't think I loved him either. And still my heart ached. It ached so much that I could barely breathe. It wasn't rational. I held my finger on the lamp button every other hour. Every night. Every other hour, every night, I beat myself, clenched my fists, thought about Keefe, thought about murder, thought of a murderer. Every other hour I decided that I was _not _going.

Twenty-seven days after I had been released from the hospital, I almost threw the lamp out in a fit. I was _not_ going. It would be insane.

Twenty-eight days after my release I rushed to a calendar, counting the days in frenzy, suddenly afraid it'd be too late, afraid that I'd have missed the window of opportunity.

Twenty-nine days after my release I took long walks, avoiding my home. I called my dad and my mom and talked for a long time about nothing and everything.

I dreaded the night. If I didn't go with him I'd never know. It'd kill me. He'd itch inside me and I wouldn't ever see him again. If I went with him, then I'd be a wrecked woman, a lost case. And that was just how I felt - like I'd felt for a very long time. I'd been so good at acting as if I got over the rape, the humiliation and the fear. I'd smiled and played along for so long, and then_ he_ came along and tore everything down and found _me_. The real me. Or was it I that found myself when I refused to give in to him and his threats?

I had to see him. If I lit the lamp he'd come and I could just see once him before he disappeared. Just that.

'_Mom and Dad. _

_Don't look for me. I had to go. _

_It'll be all right and I'll let you know when I've found what I'm looking for. I love you both. /Lisa.' _

I fiddled with the paper. It wasn't like I was going to use it. I was just toying with the idea.

I looked in my closet and in my drawers. In case of a fire, what would I save? I picked out a couple of pants, a skirt, some sweaters, blouses, and underwear. I looked at the backs of the photo albums in my bookshelf. But there wasn't going to be any fire, was there? I pulled one out and began flipping through it. Ghostly, unreal images of my life. Of how it had appeared up until recently. My heart pounded. The sun sunk rapidly. I didn't have to make up my mind tonight. I'd still have tomorrow. And it wasn't like I was going anyway.

I picked out a few photos, my toothbrush and a couple of facial products along with lipstick and mascara.

The sun had set completely. I turned off every light in the whole apartment and sat in the dark, only seeing contours in the faint light from the streetlamps outside.

I thought of not going with him. And cried.

I thought of going with him. And cried.

I would hurt people.

I couldn't not go.

I rushed to the kitchen and turned on the lamp. Its light spread a circle of yellow on the floor and wall, its image reflected in the window. I stared at the doubled lamp while I panted as hard as if I had run a thousand miles.

I went back to the chair in the dark living room and waited. The urge to rush back to the kitchen and kill the lamp overcame me several times, but I stayed. A long time had passed in complete silence when I finally got up and looked at a watch. It'd been four hours since I'd lit it. It was one a.m. A flutter of panic in my belly wondered if he wasn't coming after all.

I woke with a start from the faint pink light of dawn. The sun rose rapidly, announcing a new day. I darted up and looked at the watch again. _He didn't come!_ Had I miscalculated the days? _He changed his mind! _He had changed his mind and I'd made a total fool of myself. My stomach clenched. I felt sick. Had he smirked at me, out there on the dark street, before he'd revved his engine and sped off? I rushed to the kitchen and turned off the damn lamp.

The whole day I tried to feel relieved. I hadn't had to make the decision. It had been made for me. My heart sank. Again a decision had been made for me. Like always.

I spent the afternoon curled up on my bed. I couldn't eat. My stomach was in knots. Later, I called work and made plans for my return. I knew I sounded cheerful. I was good at that. All the while I saw Jackson before me. I couldn't see him cruel and violent anymore. I saw nothing but his soft smile and his glittering eyes. I touched my lips and remembered how he'd kissed me and how good it had felt.

When the sun set I turned on the lamp again and waited. I knew he wouldn't come, but I wanted to know that_ I_ had made a decision, no matter what the outcome.

At eleven o'clock I heard a rustle outside my door and then two knocks.

I almost fainted. I stumbled when I rose from the chair and my heart beat so hard that all I heard was the blood whooshing in my ears. Before I opened, I put my palms against the door and inhaled. Then I unlocked.

"Hey," he said, looking at me, then into the dark hallway behind me, then back at me again. He looked exactly the same. His eyes were wary and he regarded me for a moment before he glanced behind him and stepped inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

I couldn't stop staring into the bluest of blue and my heart made unhealthy leaps in my chest.

"Hey," I say, clearing my throat after because that sound had been merely a croak. "Why didn't you come yesterday?"

"I had to know you weren't pulling some stunt, like calling the cops." He paused and pulled his fingers through his hair. "I wanted to see if you'd turn it back on again… tonight"

"And you know now that I didn't call… anyone?"

He nodded and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yes."

I took a small step back and studied his face. "The thought never crossed my mind, Jackson." I wanted to touch him, to see if he was really standing there, but I didn't dare.

He raised an arm and laid his hand on my chest, his palm over the newest scar, the wound that had come so close to killing me. My heart sped up almost painfully at his touch. "How have you been coping?" he asked. "I thought you were going to die… I called 911… but I hesitated. Then I thought it wasn't fair if you'd die, just when…" He turned quiet. "You lit the lamp," he stated and dropped his arm to his side.

It was my turn to nod silently.

"You ready to go then?"

I turned and headed to the bedroom, fetching the trunk on the bed. Then I looked around me, taking in the room, the life that I was leaving behind. Then I walked back out to him. "Let's go."

"I never really thought…" He didn't finish the sentence; instead he raised one arm towards me. I stood still with a pounding heart, my cheeks hot. Stroking some strands of hair away from my face and tucking them behind my ear, he then let his fingers follow my jaw line before it dropped to his side. "You don't look particularly happy, Lisa."

"I have no idea what I'm doing," I said and stepped into my shoes. I hesitated. "Are- are we on the run?"

He snorted and then smiled widely, the sight making my belly clench. "I'm never 'on the run'. We should leave soon, but no, no one's after us. At least no one's after _me_." He raised one eyebrow, still smiling.

"Oh, wait!" I pulled the note I had written to my parents out of my jeans pocket and smoothed it out on the little table in the hallway. "Me neither. Not yet," I said.

He nodded and took the trunk out of my hands, slung it over his shoulder, and gave me a half-smile. "Not yet. Come on." He started towards the door, but then he stopped again and turned towards me. "I have no idea what I'm doing either."


	13. Those Who Speak About One's Miseries

**Author's note: **So, finally. Last chapter. I won't bore you (much) with the innumerable challenges I've faced with my PC (viruses, crashes, reinstallation) our internet connection (changed, shaky) and a complete meltdown concerning getting the music in my Iphone back into my PC's Itunes (I can't make it work and it's killing me!), and then, finally, I initially wasn't even able to upload this last chapter onto the site.

OK, I bored you. Sorry. Anyway, those are some of the reasons that this last chapter has taken an eternity to post.

This chapter isn't long. And it _is_ the very 'finale'.

Thank you all for all the reviews, and all the people I know have been following this story over the years (since I first posted it). Your input and love have meant the world to me and inspired my writing so much. /Love, Nicolina.

(And thanks to my friend CamiliaAnn who helped me beta this last chapter. :) )

::

**Chapter 13. Those Who Speak About One's Miseries Usually Hurt. Those Who Keep Silent Hurt More.** (Interpreted C.S. Lewis)

I sit frozen next to Jackson, cradling my chest with my arms, as if protecting myself from... me, him, the madness that has become my life. It tingles inside, aches, and I don't know whether it's sorrow for those I'm leaving behind or if it's a raving, crazy joy that wants to burst out of my heart like a wild horse finally let free.

Mile after mile passes by. Jackson is driving fast, almost in the middle of the deserted road but I feel safe as his passenger. I'm sure he can handle a car just as well as he handled me, the hours in the elevator, just as he handles his... murdering. He seems to be like that - able. I swallow hard and stare at the white lines in the middle of the road that rapidly disappear behind the car, marking the distance passed, but also the time, and the change in my life. _What have I done? My God! _

I feel him glance at me occasionally, yet I flinch when he speaks for the first time since we went on our way. "You all right, Leese?" His voice is soft, low, just audible over the expensively discreet humming from the engine.

I swallow, nod, and force a smile on my strained face. "Yeah." It comes out as a ghostly gasp.

He turns his head towards me and gives me a brief smile before he looks back to the road. "It'll be all right, you know. _You'll_ be all right."

I just don't know.

_He_ knows for some reason. Doesn't he always? "Are you afraid? Of me?"

"No," I say, quickly. A little too quickly. I mean to say more, to explain myself, but he takes the words right out of my mouth.

He lets out a sigh. "Look. We don't know each other, Leese. You barely know anything about me except how I smell when I haven't washed in two days. And that I can be frighteningly prone to violence when needed. And that I can be _very_ comfy in a cold, narrow space." He turns to me and regards me. Then he smiles and his teeth are white and his eyes light up, electrically blue for a moment, in the headlight from a meeting car. "Come on, Sweets, you're safer with me than you'd be with any man you didn't know and who chatted you up in a random bar, safer than you'd be walking down the street in broad daylight in any larger city. You know this. I won't say this again because I find repeating myself means that I'm speaking to someone's who's either retarded, or dead. I'll never lay a hand on you. Not without your consent. We clear on that?"

I nod eagerly up and down several times and am rewarded with that smile again. "Agreed."

"Good. Hey, we might argue, okay?. Yell, slam doors and throw porcelain. But don't ever, fucking ever, be afraid of me again." His hand seeks mine and squeezes it. It feels good and I want to keep holding on to this stranger that I still know so well. He glances sideways at me and then down at our hands when I don't let go. Then he looks back out the front window and entwines his warm strong fingers with my cold trembling ones.

I lean my head against the cold window and glance up at the dark velvety canopy above us. It's there, always, it doesn't care about petty human lives. We are so insignificant in the vastness, and the miracle, that is the universe... what does it matter what we do with our short lives? Why would we tie ourselves down and just settle? Take the easy way? Why do we work, live, and die with what we have right around us when we can burst free, burn our bridges, and turn these meager years into more? Much, much more!

We sit in silence again, but this time it's a good silence. Pleasant.

He's turned my life upside down. Pulled down every barrier I ever built. Shown me who I can be. Planted a seed inside me, a need for change, a need for something new, a lust for life. But is life with him… life? Will this fervent human being next to me ignite me? Or will he eventually crush me?

I pull my hand out of his, hesitate a moment, then I slowly caress the naked forearm up to where the rolled-up sleeve hides the warm skin and muscle. He gasps and seem to lean closer. I feel his warmth radiating up via my fingers, tingling along my arm and into my chest. His skin on mine makes me happy and I push all thoughts away, all the worries.

In the corner of my eye I see him smile. "Do you want us to get a room?" He bites his lower lip and gives me a quick meaningful gaze.

_No! _"Ehm... I think we should put a little more distance behind us before-" _Oh, God. Yes! Soon!_ I snap my mouth shut, but I know he looks at that slowly spreading grin that I can't seem to erase from my face.

My hand follows his arm back down to his hand, feeling the coarse little hairs on his skin, hair that I know is dark and with a tinge of red in it. He grips my hand again and then we just sit there, calmly, friendly, peacefully. I breathe out and sink deeper into my seat, feeling a sense of content settle in my pained soul.

It's the first time I've felt that in a very long time. It'll do.

For now.

::

THE END.


End file.
